


what is freedom good for unless you are free to love

by Carissiima



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Mandalorian Marriage Traditions (Star Wars), Not Beta Read, Slow Burn, The Mandalorian (TV) Season 2
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-15 09:14:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 43,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28561146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carissiima/pseuds/Carissiima
Summary: You like the complexity of wiring, the strength of metal, and the scent of fuel. It’s all you’ve ever known on this planet that is lit up by starlight half a cycle and a true sun the other. You make enough, you eat enough, you sleep enough.An orphan can’t really complain, and you’d be happy to live the rest of your human life like so until the Razor Crest finds its way into your hangar.Din x Reader*begins after S2EP5
Relationships: Din Djarin/Original Female Character(s), Din Djarin/Reader, Din Djarin/You
Comments: 85
Kudos: 547





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> Wow. Okay. Welcome folks! 
> 
> So I am fairly new to The Mandalorian and Star Wars in general! 
> 
> I binge-watched the Mandalorian, promptly fell in love, and here we are. Please, if there is any Mandalorian or Star Wars lore I am getting incorrect, let me know! I'll be taking a few liberties as a fic writer to get the story moving along, but I am trying to be as accurate as I can. 
> 
> I have about ten chapters pre-written, 40k words and I think we'll be ending this fic at around fifteen? Who knows really, we'll have to see. I'll post 1-2x a week. 
> 
> Reader is a ship mechanic when the Razor Crest lands in her hangar. She meets the Mandalorian, forms a connection with the child, and her life changes forever. 
> 
> Thank you for clicking, and as always, comments and kudos are appreciated <3

It’s a simple, good life. Manageable, predictable, and not always safe but you’re more than capable with a blaster if need be. You have to be as you live on the Outer Rim, alone and having the biology of a human. Your skin is not scaled nor hardened, only calloused and dry from work and weather. It’s good work at least: ship mechanics. You like the complexity of wiring, the strength of metal and the scent of fuel. It’s all you’ve ever known on this planet that is lit up by starlight half a cycle and a true sun the other. You make enough, you eat enough, you sleep enough. 

An orphan can’t really complain, and you’d be happy to live the rest of your human life like so until the Razor Crest finds its way into your hangar. 

“It’s...in rough shape.” The Mandalorian admits. Something clatters behind him and you lean to the side, because he’s broad and tall, to find a large metal part of his ship now on the ground. You laugh, loudly and bright at the fated action. 

“Your definition of rough and my definition of rough seem to be different.” You say playfully, returning your grin to him, hands popping onto your hips. 

There’s no shift in his demeanor, the starlight that illuminates your planet glinting off of the silver armour as he stands in front of you, a force to be reckoned with. You’ve never seen a Mandalorian before but like many others, you’ve heard of the legends that star the knights in beskar. You wonder if they’re all like this, intimidating and whatnot. They have to be, you suppose, with their tendency to be warriors above any other career option. 

“How long will it take to fix?” He asks calmly, voice distorted through the modulator in his helmet. You almost roll your eyes. That’s the problem with bounty hunters, which you can infer by the blaster at his hip and litter of weapons strapped on his back. They think it’s just slapping metal onto a ship and then they can go but there’s  _ engineering _ and  _ math _ and  _ flammable fluids _ involved. 

“Depend on what you mean by ‘fix’.” You inform him, gesturing towards his ship. “I can make it presentable and flyable in a few days, but if you want it to last through another one of your little adventures, I’d need at least a full week. I haven’t even  _ seen _ what’s inside yet, your wiring is probably kriffed beyond the stars.” 

You wait for him to argue with you, as bounty hunters and adventurers do, when suddenly a coo comes from his side. Your brows come together, eyes traveling south to search for its origins. You have no children of your own but you know the sound of a child and that is what you find. A strange looking, green baby but a child nonetheless stuffed into a brown ruffsack at the Mandalorians hip. Large twitching ears adorn it’s head while a small nose twitches as it smiles. Pink dusts it’s cheeks, matching the soft skin inside it’s ears and you’ve never seen anything so  _ cute _ . 

“Oh my Maker, who is this?” You ask excitedly, voice softening as sparkling eyes meet yours. 

A hand comes out, three pronged, yearning for touch and you feel something inside your body tug, willing you to return the gesture. Something at the back of your mind tingles, a connection forming instantaneously with the little one who is still looking at you with an delighted gaze. You bend down at the waist, reach out to touch the little one, say hello, cement the connection, but the Mandalorian steps back.

“How much will it cost me?” He asks, moving his cape in a way that shrouds the little creature. The baby let’s out a small babble and you straighten, knowing better than to ask bounty hunters too many questions. Still, you feel strangely empty without the child in your sights and have to shake yourself mentally to get back to reality. 

“It depends, once again, on what it looks like on the inside.” You give him an overestimate and you’re almost disappointed that you’re unable to see eyes widen or jaws drop as you tend to see in the younger travellers. “Not to mention, your ship is not the only one in my yard to be fixed…” You linger. This trick always works even if you don’t have any other ships to patch up. It’s just you and a few droids after all but your clients don’t have to know that. 

“I can get your money, as long as the Crest is your top priority.” The Mandalorian demands. 

You open your mouth to continue the bargain, a dance you’ve been doing since you were old enough to hold a welder when something tugs at the hem of your work trousers. You look down to find a small green child pulling at your clothes with a three fingered hand, the one that  _ was _ in the Mandalorians satchel. The smile returns to your face and the little one mimics your facial expression. You love children, absolutely adore them and this one seemed even purer than others. Before his dad can protest, you reach down and scoop the child up, feeling your heart flutter when he coos happily as you position him in your arms.

“You are a sneaky one.” You compliment, tapping his nose goodnaturedly. He gurgles out something like a laugh and you feel a dozen years of loneliness lift from your soul. That bridge forms between the two of you again, the emptiness you felt before evaporating into thin air. 

A heavy sigh comes from the Mandalorians helmet, distorted but you can tell that this isn’t the first time the little one has caused him trouble.

“He’s just hungry.” The Mandalorian admits. 

“Oh, that I can fix!” You chirp happily, slipping a hand into your pocket to find the jerky you were saving for your midday snack. You pull it out and unwrap it, giggling as the child’s eyes get wider than they were before at the sight of something to eat. You’re watching him gnaw happily on the treat when a gloved hand enters your peripheral vision.

“I can take him.” The Mandalorian states. 

You wonder if you’re imagining that his voice is a little softer than before but you comply. You hand the child over and the sight is quite comedic, a big, strong Mandalorian holding a child the size of his head. The little one is happy though, snuggling into his father and clutching onto the Mandalorians gloved thumb like it’s a lifeline. What a sweet little family, you think. 

“Well, you can definitely find better food at Lorwa’s Cantina. Seems like the little one needs a good meal.” You comment softly, drinking in the way the Mandolorian’s helmet tilts towards the child in fatherly affection. The little one grins at his dad and your heart jumps in your chest at the sight. 

“Thank you.” He says. You nod in return and before any more conversation can be done, or you feel another urge to hold onto the baby, you grab your scanner and datapad from the droid that is posted up by your side. You make your way to the desecrated ship and try to ignore the gaze of the Mandalorian and his child, burning into the back of your head. 

  
  


The cantina is a little rowdier than what Din is used to for a midday visit but he supposes that everyone is allowed to be as riotous as they like in the Outer Rim. He makes his way to the back of the room, letting the kid find his way up onto a chair. The hunter can feel eyes on them, ranging from curiosity to fear as it tends to be when a Mandalorian walks around lately. With the kid tagging along, eyes have been multiplying and Din knows he has to be more careful to not draw even more attention than they already have.

“What’ll you have?” The waitress that walks up to them asks, no nonsense in her voice. “Spotchka’s pretty good ‘round here.”

“Something with bones for the kid.” Din answers. “Nothing for me.” She nods, scribbling it down on her pad before walking away towards the bar. 

It’s an uneventful half hour. They bring a roasted bird-like dish for the kid who dives into it like Din never feeds him as well as a cup of bantha milk. Din himself takes the time to observe his surroundings, watching people come and go and keeping his ears open for a possible job. His wallet is dwindling and he needs funds to put them back on track. Finding the child’s family is proving harder than he thought it would be. 

His mind wanders back to the woman he left the Crest with and the way she smiles so easily. That’s really quite hard to find in this day and time, not to mention she’s beautiful. The thought of it makes Din pause. It’s been a very long time since he’s seen beauty, or at least observed something long enough to register it’s aesthetics. She knew he was a Mandalorian and referred to him as such but Din doesn't even know her name. A shame. He’ll have to ask her when he gets back so he can thank her properly. 

Not to mention, he’s never seen the child take to someone so quickly. No one but him.

“I need a medic!” The yell turns everyone’s head to its owner, Din included. A small group of men come stumbling in, two of them holding one that’s hunched over and groaning in pain. Din makes note of their blasters strapped to their hips, their crude armour and the blood oozing from in between fingers of the injured one in the middle. Something sickly blue drips off of them, patches dry and others fresh. It seems they’ve just come back from a battle but Din hasn’t heard any blaster fire in nearly an hour. 

“Not here, medic’s down the street!” The owner snaps from behind the bar.

Before they can turn around and find said medic, the one in the middle collapses onto the floor, his friends yelling his name in fear. The owner groans and throws his rag down, marching over to the group as the occupants of the cantina whisper and murmur. A sound to his right has Din turning his head and he sees the kid trying to wriggle out of the chair to get closer to the ordeal. Quickly, he grabs the back of the brown robe and plops him back firmly onto his seat. 

“No.” Din says with finality. The kid whimpers, looking up at him with glassy eyes that say,  _ I can help _ . Din won’t allow it, not when he knows it takes too much out of the kid to do so. Din returns his attention to the small crowd, picking up bits and pieces of information.

“Where did you three come from?” The owner asks. “And someone go get a kriffing medic!” 

“Brus.” The one on the left answers, blue smearing his cheek. “The whole town has been overrun by Beasts.”

“Disgusting things.” The right spits, a cut on his brow bleeding into his eye. “Their queen moved into one of the cellars of our friends house and is calling the whole kriffing planet’s population to her.”

“How the hell did it get into there?” A voice pipes.

“Who cares! We just want it out!” Cut-brow yells in frustration. 

“Where in hell is that medic?!” Blue-face nearly screams. A droid enters the catina moments after, a medic droid as far as Din can tell and he knows the one in the middle will be just fine. 

The crowd dies out soon after that and Din is relieved that there is a job just around the corner from here. Though he doesn’t know what the beast exactly is, there’s nothing he hasn’t been able to handle so far. He allows the little one to finish gnawing on a wing before he makes his way up to the bar to pay his tab. 

“Thanks. About to go find yourself a job?” The owner gruffly questions, not even looking at the hunter. Din doesn’t answer that, his own query falling from his lips.

“The ship mechanic around here,” Din starts. “What’s her story?” The owner responds with a sly grin as he places down the glass he was polishing and leans on the countertop to get closer to Din. 

“A story will cost you, Mandalorian.” The man drawls. Din signs internally.

“Of course it does.” He responds, throwing a few more credits the owners way. The smugness of the owner's face tells Din that it’s just enough. 

“She moved to our town a few years back, an orphan from Eldons which is a few towns south of here. Started working for my cousin at the shipyard and when my cousin bit it, he left her the droids, building and clients. She’s good at her job, I’ll give her that.” The owner admits. A pause. “ _ But _ she’s not the type to warm your bed if that’s what you’re after.” 

Din doesn’t grace that with an answer, merely turning away and leaving the cantina. It’s not what he’s after and the insinuation has him burning to the tips of his ears. The embarrassment still has him fuming when he enters the medical clinic, shoving the door open with a little more force than he intends to. It does the trick though, when everyone in the room including the trio he’s searching for looks up at him. 

“A Mandalorian?” The voice is barely an echo and Din finds it coming from the more grievously injured of the three. He’s lying in a bed now, hooked up to a drip with a medic droid spraying a mist of Bacta across his abdomen. His friends sit next to his bed, now cleaned up as well and they all look less stressed than an hour ago. 

“I hear you guys have some trouble with a Beast.” Din comments, taking a few steps towards them.

“Yes! Yes, we are!” Cut-brow exclaims, jumping up from his seat.

“Mandalorians are warriors. Could you help us?” Blue-face asks excitedly. 

“For a price.” Din answers plainly.

“We...we don’t have much.” The injured one divulges, worry painting his features. “But the town...we’ll gather as much as we can.”

Good enough for Din.


	2. two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omggg you guys, thank you so much for the feedback so far!! I really appreciate it! 
> 
> Please enjoy this next chapter, let me know how you're enjoying it or what you're expecting!

Din needs to get out of his clothes.

No one said that the damn Beasts would  _ crunch _ under his fists, exoskeletons quite flimsy for a race that had swarmed all over a town to a point that made even the Mandalorian squirm. Turns out the Beasts are a large, overgrown insect species with a hive mind. Underneath the exoskeleton was a disgusting, bright blue goo that stuck to absolutely everything--his armour, his pants, his shirt, his helmet, his guns. The blasted liquid even crawled its way up to his helmet, matting his hair down and squelching in his boots every step he takes. Kriff, he looks like someone flipped him over by his ankles and dipped him into a vat of the stuff. 

He’s tired, he’s sticky and he’s pissed. Even the little one is grumpy, and while his pod followed Din with every step he took and stayed tightly shut during the whole ordeal to keep him safe, it still took eighteen hours to shoot down every Beast that came after him, and another two to find the queen in order to shut the hive down. Not the hardest mission he’s ever done, but certainly the most tedious. The trek back certainly isn’t going that great either, with the dirt sticking to his boots in a way that has already given him an inch or two in height. 

They’re both hungry and tired by the time they make it back to the ship. Din is surprised to see a light still on by the tin can he calls his home. It’s the mechanic with a welding gun and protective mask over her face. She wears the same jumpsuit from a day ago, hair still pulled back in a low knot and boots dusted with dirt. Working by fluorescent lighting, he can see the tiredness underneath her eyes, the crinkle of focus on her forehead and by Din’s estimates, it’s well past anyone's bedtime. The streets were empty, starlight gone and he didn’t expect for her to still be up working on his ship; even the droids have gone to charge. Din knows she’s probably been at it nonstop and the fact makes him tender inside. 

The little one starts to wail. Din briefly sees her jump before he turns his attention to the pod, clicking it open to see why his foundling is crying. The sound of the welding gun switching off echoes in his peripheral senses as he reaches into the cradle, patting the little one in what he hopes is a soothing manner. The kid continues to cry regardless, and Din can’t help but sigh. He’s been like this since they left for their trip, which is strange considering he’s generally quiet. Mischievous, sure, but quiet. 

“There you are, Mandalorian.” She says, pulling off her protective face shield. “I was half afraid the Beasts went ahead and ate you both up.”

“They certainly tried.” Din says tiredly, still patting the little one with his hand as they walk towards the ship. “What’s wrong,  _ ad'ika _ ?” He begs to ask, voice softening as to not disturb the child anymore. It always breaks his heart when the little one cries, the sound of it shrill and surreal. He’s got a good temperament, not usually a crier so Din knows that when he does, something is very wrong. 

“Oh, he’s tired. Long day of bounty hunting with your dad, huh, baby?” Her face is sympathetic, sweet, brows knitted together as if she feels the child's distress. She wipes her hands off on a rag, making sure they’re as clean as possible before reaching forward into the cradle. Din’s hand jets out and grabs her out of instinct, his fingers encircling her wrist easily, and she jumps in surprise. 

“What are you doing?” He asks gruffly. He doesn’t let go and the warmth of her skin soon seeps through the leather of his gloves. The heart in her body beats steadily, he can feel it in his fingers, the most  _ human  _ thing he’s felt in so long. 

“I can get him to quiet down.” She answers slowly, meeting his eyes. “I’m not going to hurt him, I promise. .”

Din’s jaw tightens. Being cautious with who touches the child has been necessary and so far, only Cara and Greef Karga have held the baby outside of him. He never knows who is out there looking for the child, and while the main threat is gone, there’s no shortage in shady mercenaries around these parts. The crying though, it breaks down his resolve and Din lets go of the engineer's wrist. He retreats and watches in quiet amazement as she turns her sure eyes to the child, face turning tender. 

She reaches out for him, bending low to his height and holding out a hand for the little one. He grabs onto it like a lifeline and Din watches as she rubs the back of his hand with her thumb. Back and forth, slowly and softly, again and again, as she accompanies it with quiet shushing and sweet words. It’s not long at all until his  _ ad’ika _ stops screaming, eyes mesmerized by the engineer's presence and touch. 

“How did you do that?” Din asks, slack-jawed underneath his helmet. She laughs at the breathlessness in his voice before standing up straight again, allowing her hand to stay in the cradle. 

“Babies like skin to skin contact.” She explains knowingly, eyes still on the child. Skin to skin contact, one of the many things that Din is unable to do for the child thus far. He continues to watch in silent amazement as the baby looks up at the mechanic, eyes blinking slowly and twinkling in a way Din has never seen before. 

“He likes you.” Din concludes, mainly to himself as he reaches forward as a cheap imitation. The little one grasps onto his fingers using his other hand, connecting the three of them in a chain. 

A faraway observer may go as far as to believe them a small family. 

“Do you want me to take care of him? While you clean up?” She offers, giving him a small smile. He watches as she takes in his figure, a small laugh escaping her lips and suddenly he feels quite embarrassed at his state. “I know Beast goo is a pain in the ass to get out of clothes, and my fresher is quite a lot bigger than yours.” 

Din pauses. He’s about to say it’s fine, he’ll clean up on the ship but she’s so earnest and the little one likes her  _ so _ much. Din sees something between the two of them, an undeniable link that Din once thought only belonged to him and the kid. The exhaustion finds its way into the forefront of his mind and he feels just how much his bones and muscles ache. They both desperately need some real rest and she seems harmless so far. 

He could kill her if that fact changes. 

“That would be helpful, thank you.” Din murmurs. She grins, so brightly it almost hurts him and reaches forward to scoop the child up in her arms. Din’s heart squeezes when the kid immediately snuggles into the crook of her neck, arms wrapping around her as best as he can.

“Does he have a name?” She asks, running her palm up and down the child's back soothingly. 

“No.” Din answers without hesitation, and then very out of character for him, “What about you?” 

She supplies her name, a name Din has never heard before but burns into his mind. He won’t forget it, he promises to himself, the kindness of her actions already finding its home in his memories. 

“Come on in, I’ve got an extra room for the night too.” She suggests, head moving to gesture to the shop that he’s never even stepped foot in. 

“That’s not necessary--”

“I saw that little cot you call a bed, Mandalorian.” (Y/N) teases, walking towards the shop that Din now realizes must double as her home. “It might be good to sleep in an actual room tonight.” 

“I don’t get paid until the morning.” Din admits, following her into the building. It’s a standard shop until she walks towards the back and through a hallway before Din finds it evolving into someone's home. With blankets strewn about, a cup and bowl placed here and there, it looks lived in. 

“Did I ask for payment?” (Y/N) asks, turning to him with her eyebrows raised. “Now, fresher is down the hall. You can leave your clothes out and the droids will get them to you nice and clean in the morning. I’ll have them bring you something to wear in the meantime as well. This little one is hungry so I’m going to get him something to eat. I’ll just be over here in the kitchen.”

She turns away from him, murmuring sweet things to the child and asking them if they prefer milk or juice. Din takes in his surroundings for a moment, finding a cozy living space that seems devoid of another life. A droid pitter-patters around, a small one programmed for housework that goes to aid it’s master in the other room. Just her then, he concludes, and with one final glance into her kitchen to find the pair laughing with each other, Din is satisfied. 

Her fresher is much larger than the one on his ship, which barely fit him since his last growth spurt as a young man. Din slowly starts to go through the process of removing his armour, pulling off his leather gloves, cape and removing his utility belt. With his hands free, next go his shoulder pauldrons, his signet drowned in the blue slime. His cuirass which is the heaviest of it all unclicks easily with practiced fingers. Finally are his thigh guards and heavy boots, which are also disgustingly slathered with blue innards. The helmet comes off with a hiss and he sets it by the sink, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror.

It always jars him, seeing his own reflection. Sweat pasted his hair to the nape of his neck and forehead, stubble becoming rowdy around his jaw as facial hair crowns his upper lip. Intense brown eyes stare back at himself, dark hair curled around his head hiding a litter of small scars and cuts that come from being knocked around in the helmet. There are more wrinkles by his eyes from the last time he’s seen himself and full brows framing a lifetime of battles. He’s not absurdly handsome by any means, but Din supposes someone, someday could find him attractive. 

The Creed forbids another living being to see his face and since he’s sworn into the Creed, he’s kept that promise. To see himself though, it always seemed to be a bit of a loophole as he too is a living being. His last meeting with Bo-Katan comes to mind, her face a clear image in his mind. He’s been trying not to think about the fact that his whole upbringing may have been a crazed Mandalorian’s image of what is right but it still creeps up on him during moments like this. 

What if it was different? What if he was raised by the sect Bo-Katan was raised in? Would he be a different man? As far as he knew, the only difference was that he never removed his helmet. The other testaments stayed the same; to raise children and foundlings as Mandalorians, to wear the Mandalorian armor, master self-defense, devoting one's actions to the Tribe’s welfare, speaking Mando’a and answering the leaders call to action. But his adherence to the outlying commandment has no doubt cost him something, he just isn’t sure what quite yet. 

Nearly two decades since then, he realizes that he has been seen by another living thing without his helmet, and nearly two decades since he has seen another human being without the haze of the helmet. Briefly, the bounty hunter wonders what (Y/N) would look like in natural light, if her grin would still be as blinding, her voice as kind. 

Din throws his clothes and cape to the right of the door before switching the shower on, shoving those thoughts away. The water is hot, another luxury he hasn’t had in a while and he spends more time than necessary under the spray. He scrubs at his head and facial hair with a bar of soap, both aspects of him in dire need of a trim. Thankfully with the water, all the goo finds its way down the drain and Din finds himself cleaner than he’s been in weeks. 

When he exits the shower, he finds fresh towels and a dark set of clothing for him to wear for the night. Surprisingly, they fit quite well and Din continues to pull on his helmet and boots before spraying his armour with warm water too. It rids the beskar of a majority of the blue but they most definitely need a good polishing. He walks back to the kitchen with his armour in his arms, hoping to find the foundling but he’s gone and so is (Y/N).

Panic sets in almost immediately and Din reaches down for the single blaster he strapped back onto his leg, setting down the armor with a clang. The sound of his crying foundling has him racing down the hall, blaster now out of it’s holster. He bursts into the room to his right, holding up the weapon before he can register the scene before him. It’s (Y/N), just laying in her bed on her side with a blanket pulled up to her waist and the cradle beside her.

“Kriff, you woke him up!” (Y/N) chastises, brows knitting together in aggravation at him. She reaches over into the cradle and once again, pulls the kid to her chest, settling down into the comforter as she soothes the little one to stop crying.

Din sighs in relief, audibly so, and holsters his blaster. She just took the child to bed, nothing nefarious.

“I’m sorry.” He apologizes. “He sleeps with me, generally.” She sends him a mild glare, lips slanting but then sighs. 

“That’s alright, can’t fault a father for being worried.” (Y/N) says gently, slipping out of her blankets to stand up next to the pod. Din notices that the little one is no longer wearing the brown robe he found them in and instead is swaddled in something dark blue and fitting.

“You changed his clothes.” Din remarks. 

“Yes, that brown robe you had him in was in dire need of a wash.” (Y/N) replies, settling the sleepy child back into his cradle. “They’ll be washed and dried by the morning.” That’s when Din catches sight of the change in bedding as well, a change from his old tunics to a plush white pillow and dark green quilt of sorts. 

“The bed…” Din murmurs as (Y/N) walks towards him, bringing the pod with her.

“I revamped it, is all.” She admits, a small smile on her lips. 

“You’re being too kind. I can’t...I can’t offer you anything.” Din admits. 

“I just have a soft spot for kids.” (Y/N) admits, stroking one of the child's ears before pushing the button to close the pod opening. Fresh faced, grease all gone, she looks much younger than he remembers from a day ago. 

It’s only then that Din notices her sleeping attire, much different than his own. A pair of cotton brown shorts and matching top is what she’s dressed in, her hair down now and brushed out. All the new skin causes Din to flush from chest up, grateful for his helmet shielding the sight from (Y/N). The cantina owner’s words come flying back at him and Din can’t dodge those like he can blaster fire. It’s not as if he’s never seen or touched a woman’s bare skin, it’s just every time he has it’s been in low light and rushed in a way that’s never been able to appreciate it. Appreciate it, he does now, drinking in the sight as she looks back at him without a single ounce of shyness. 

“Your room is down the hall. It’s not much but, I hope you get some well-earned rest, Mandalorian.” (Y/N) says sweetly after a moment. Din swallows hard under his helmet and nods. 

“Thank you.” He responds curtly. He doesn’t trust himself to say anything else. At least with the modulator, she can’t tell how his voice shakes, touched by her seemingly boundless kindness and straight faith that he and his foundling will do her no harm. 

Her door shuts quietly as he goes to gather up his bags and fallen armour. The room she speaks of is smaller than hers from what he can guess, but more spacious than the little cot he usually sleeps in inside the ship. There’s a single bed, a small window and end table. There’s a plate on the table and when Din takes a step closer to it, he finds an array of crackers, dried meats and fresh fruit, already peeled and cut up. 

She left it there for him. Another act of kindness he’s unsure of how to repay. 

Din situates the little one’s cradle into a corner and leaves the armour by the bed, one that’s wider than he is but shorter in length. With what energy is left in him, he goes to polish his armour, thoughts churning in his head, trying not to think about (Y/N) and failing. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a difference between being nice and being kind. I'd like to think Din will be met with kindness in his journey.


	3. three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, warning, I am not especially skilled with action scenes. Feelings? Emotions? Dialogue? COOL.
> 
> Ass-kicking? Sub par, hahah.
> 
> Regardless, please enjoy this new chapter and let me know what you think!

Din isn’t sure the last time he’s slept so soundly. 

Usually, it’s his vambrace buzzing as an alarm waking him up, some days it’s the noises of the small child crawling all over him in search of food or company. Today it’s starlight, hazy but persistent across his eyelids even with the usual protection of his helmet. Grimacing, Din turns over in the bed and it squeaks in protest at his weight, his armour chafing. When he allows his eyes to open, they land on the pram. 

The open pram.

The open pram with  _ no child in it _ . 

His heart rate rockets and Din is up quicker than he’s ever stood before, the weight of his beskar familiar and needed. His fingers go to his blaster, which stays strapped to him throughout the night as always, and he exits the room in search of his foundling. First the fresher, which is empty and then he bursts into the mechanics bedroom which he knows is ungentlemanly but he finds that devoid of life as well. He swears underneath his breath, worst case scenarios of the child being kidnapped and (Y/N) lying somewhere with a blaster hole through her head flashing in his mind.

Panic rises in him as he stalks across the building, eyes scanning the kitchen to no avail. Even the front of the shop is empty, the droids he remembered from last night gone from their charging stations. It’s not until he emerges outside in the early starlight does he find his child, safe in the arms of (Y/N). His chest heaves with a relieved sigh and the sight of it drops his alarming heart rate as Din drops his hand from his weapon.

It’s strangely domestic, the sight of them together in the early morning light. (Y/N)’s put back on her work uniform, hair tied up tight in a ponytail behind her and the little one is chewing on yet another stick of mystery meat. His face is of childish delight, so similar to what it was like on Sorren. Din momentarily wishes that it had worked out for them then, but if it did then he would have never met (Y/N). 

“Good morning, Mandalorian.” She chirps at the sight of him, adjusting the little one on her hip. “He came and found me when he woke up.”

“Scared me half to death.” Din mutters, shaking his head. “Sorry. He has a tendency to wander.” A bad tendency, Din thinks, with the amount of danger that comes with them. 

“I don’t mind. This little one is an absolute angel.” (Y/N) gives the baby a peck on his little nose and he squeals happily, gripping at her cheeks with his claws. Din clears his throat and reaches for the child. She lets him go with a sad little smile and steps back to take a look at the strange pair.

“I’ll send you your credits immediately.” Din says, business like and calm. 

“Sounds good. Your ship is almost ready.” She informs him, obviously proud of how much she’s done in just the past four days by the way she gazes upon his ship. “I did much of the main work myself so the droids will finish up the small touches.” 

“Thank you. We’ll be out of your hair soon.” Din turns to walk back to his room, to gear up and get ready to go shopping for supplies when he realizes something. He turns back around and comes to face to face with a cheeky smile. 

“Wondering where the market is?” (Y/N) asks him with mirth in her eyes. “Come on, I’ll take you.”

  
  


The Mandalorian is...nice. 

Which is strange to you as every story you’ve heard pertaining to them is all brimstone and blaster fire. You honestly cannot imagine the hunter in front of you being anything other than fatherly but you suppose that’s because you’ve ever only seen him with his unusual green child. The little one is absolutely splendid, nothing but a joy to take care of in the few days you’ve known him. You sense there’s something more to this than what meets the eye here but you’re just an engineer. No need to go poking around in a story that’s not your own; that’s how people get killed. 

“That’ll be 4 credits each.” You hear from behind you. You scoff and turn around, barely believing that the Mandalorian is already handing it over. He’s buying some ration packs, nothing fancy enough to be 4 credits each and the kid is already slurping on one hungrily. 

“Four?” You ask loudly, walking back to them, bringing their attention to you. “Grila, I know you’re not trying to scam this nice father and son here.” 

“Wh-wha--” Grila’s eyes widen, pupil’s widening and taking over the white as she stutters at your accusation. 

“You sell these to me all the time for  _ two _ credits.” You continue with fake surprise. Of course she would try and rip off the tourists though. 

“Is that so?” The Mandalorian asks, removing his gaze from you and to the vendor. His voice is warped by his mask but not enough to remove the quiet danger thrumming in his tone. He straightens, somehow adding to his height and for a moment you feel bad for ratting out Grila. Then you remember the time she sold you rotten fruit packs and brush that feeling off just as quick as it came.

“Fine!” She huffs. With a grimace she hands the Mandalorian back the difference in credits, the coins clinking in his leathered palm. 

“Thanks.” The Mandalorian goes as you both start to walk away, this time together instead of staying ten feet apart like before. 

“Don’t mention it. People here will wring you dry if you let them.” You warn him. 

“And I’m sure you’re the exception.” He teases. A surprise laugh erupts from you, belly deep.

“So the Mandalorians  _ do _ have a sense of humour.” You hum, glancing his way. He holds your gaze, at least you think he does as you can’t see beyond the tinted T-visor of his helmet. 

“Who told you we don’t?” He asks you, his helmet cocking just slightly the right. It’s so very humanlike of him, reminding you that there is still a person under all that beskar. 

“The assortment of lethal weapons you strap on yourself just to go to the market doesn’t really scream comedian, you know?” You joke, pausing to take a look at some ship parts. The peddler is on the other side of the bench, already arguing with someone else about what you know is a particularly useless set of landing gear so you poke around and take your time. Yeah, your own blaster is at your hip but watching the Mandalorian gear up this morning was pretty excessive. 

“My friends call me Mando.” 

You’re surprised, and it must show on your face because he clears his throat and takes a step back, glancing away nervously. It’s adorable and your heart does a little jump in your chest. You realize that underneath all that bravado is gentleness, something loving. Someone that considers you a friend. 

“Well,  _ Mando _ ,” You say with emphasis and a smile. “Are you aware your child is across the street eating a poor woman's business out of house and home?” 

He looks to his satchel abruptly where the child is supposed to be and whips his head across the street when he realizes the child is not. You giggle to yourself when he practically sprints over to where the little one is gobbling down at least a dozen credits worth of roasted street rat. You follow them soon after, dodging those in the crowd and hear Mando apologizing profusely to the owner who barely speaks Basic.

“You are a greedy little womp rat.” You perkily tease as you arrive. The little one looks up at you and their eyes twinkle with recognition, cheeks glistening with grease. You obediently reach down for him when he reaches up for you, letting out a small laugh as you wipe his face with the end of your sleeve. There’s just something about him that you can’t get angry at.

“I’m sorry, take these, please. I’m so sorry. ” Mando repeats for the dozenth time, placing more than enough credits in the swearing woman’s hands. 

“You’re such a troublemaker.” You tell the child, walking a little ways away. “How does your dad even bounty hunt with you around?”

“Not. Easily.” Mando grumbles, catching up to you two. 

“You gotta get a babysitter.” You tell him as your group comes up to the only medical clinic in town. He glances at it purposefully through the glass windows filled with Bacta spray and bandages. You know this is the next stop, what bounty hunter doesn’t need first aid supplies? He turns to you, head dipping to meet the little ones eyes and then to yours.

“Will you--”

“I’ll watch him.” You interrupt, feeling warmth in your stomach when you see his tense shoulders relax. “You go stock up. We’ll be right out here, you’ll be able to see us the whole time.” 

The child grouses unhappily when their father disappears behind new doors and you shush him, bouncing his small body in your arms. He reminds you of all the little children at your old orphanage, somehow bright like stars in the midst of the tragedy that comes without losing your home and your family. You wonder if that was what happened to this little one, or does their mother and father still live out there? Somewhere in the galaxy?

You used to think like that for a while, that you had a mom and dad still searching for you. Truth is, you have no clue about your origins. Your earliest memories have always been at the orphanage, and the headmaster worked hard day and night to keep a dozen mouths fed. You never had the gall to ask how you ended up on this planet with just a single scrap of paper with your name scribbled on it tucked into the waistband of your diapers. 

You’re humming a song you barely remember, fingers massaging the tips of the little one’s ears in hopes to soothe him amongst the chaos of the market when something jabs into your lower back.

“Don’t scream or I’ll kill you right here.” A deep voice threatens.

Every hair on your body stands up, muscles tensing in a way you’ve never felt before. Sure, you’ve had an unhappy customer every so often, hoping you get kriffed or maimed or something of the sort but your life has never been threatened. You infer that it must be a blaster pressing into your skin with the way it feels and the situation you’ve suddenly found yourself in. 

The child senses your distress and lifts their head from your chest. “It’s okay, little one.” You immediately say, hand coming up to press him back down. You feel his worry and his confusion, the emotions as if they’re your own. Normally you’d fight, you’d never die with a kriffin’ fight but with this child in your arms, you know you must comply. There’s only a few outcomes here and the only one that doesn’t get you and the child killed is one of servitude. 

“Walk towards that alley to the left. Now.” The voice orders. You take in a deep breath before obeying, praying to whatever powerful entity out there that Mando looks out the window and registers what’s happening.

No such luck. A few hundred feet later, the blaster pressed to your back leaves and is replaced with a strong hand on your right shoulder. The assailant grips onto you tightly as he steers you to the alley he’s aiming for, quickly unholstering your gun to take as his own. You swear at yourself in your head, wondering why you chose  _ today _ not to tuck a vibroblade into your pocket. You thought no one would dare mess with you with a Mandalorian on your side. 

With a market this crowded and on a planet this shady, no one takes a second look at you and the child as you duck into one of the many alleyways that litter this street. It’s dirty, small; a street rat scurries its way across your boots and it takes nearly all of your balance not to fall face first. The starlight is bright this time of day, and you see the attacker has a few friends waiting for him. Leaning on a clay wall is a four armed male specimen and on the other side, a woman with fangs sits on her haunches. They’re both fairly armed and here you are, blaster-less. This doesn’t bode well for you.

“Two’s company, three’s a crowd, four is just  _ excessive _ .” You say slowly as all three sets of eyes glare at you. You wonder what they want. Credits? You barely have any on you, most of it electronically tied up. The hangar barely makes any profit, some weeks you go without eating solids. Rape? That happens often here, and you’ve managed to live this long fighting off the handsy men of the planet but maybe this is where your streak ends. 

“Shut the kriff up.” The nonchalance of his cruelty is emphasized with the butt of a blaster introducing itself to the back of your head in a painful fashion. You fall to your knees with a whimper as the pain blooms and throbs, grip tightening on the little one. He mewls sympathetically and somehow, you know he can feel the pain just as much as you. 

“You are all making a big mistake.” You warn with gritted teeth, looking up from the dirt. 

You’re met with the woman who bares her fangs at you, closer than she was before as well as the face of your attacker. He looks like a normal man, older than you with dark grey eyes. In his free hand he holds a tracking fob, blinking bright and red. Confusion continues to flow through you. 

Who in Maker’s name would put out a bounty on you? You’re no one,  _ nothing _ . 

“Give it to me.” The woman orders, reaching out for the kid. He clings onto you tighter at the sight, as if knowing of the nasty aura of the enemy.  
The child, they want the child. Why? What could anyone possibly want with this little, helpless thing, enough to put a bounty large enough for three hunters to share? Perhaps they’re royalty, or they’re someone's child. Did Mando kidnap someone else's baby? Stars, maybe you should ask some questions the next time you offer to let someone sleep at your place. 

A wiggle in your arms brings you back to reality, and you glance back down. The child’s eyes, wise and knowing stare back at you. A single hand makes it’s way up from your grip around him to land on your chin, gentle and soothing. Suddenly, you feel calm, all the past agitation before dissipating into nothing. You make a decision right then and there, gazing into the child's eyes.

“No.” You defy, raising your eyes to face the woman head on. “You better kill me if you want him.” She laughs gleefully, nose flaring and head tilting back. It’s a shrilling noise, one that makes your eardrums hurt and the child in your arms squirm. 

“Gladly.” She hisses, straightening up as you shrink. She reaches behind her and you hear the vibroblade before you see the buzzing red. 

“Be quick with it.” The leader snaps impatiently. “We’re only here for the asset.” 

“The Mandalorian ought to know the things missing by now, Clora.” The other man rushes, voice breathless. “Hurry up!” He looks nervous almost, as if this is his first time doing something like this. 

“Don’t tell me how to do my job.” Clora growls, turning away from you to squawk at her teammate. 

Another split second decision moves your body and you’re turning, scrambling to your feet in an effort to run away. Unfortunately, you’re too slow and a pain flares up at your ribs, so awful tears escape at your eyes and your breath is stolen from your lungs. The heat of her vibroblade permeates your whole left side but you don’t let it stop you, your feet sprinting towards the light of the exit.

“Stop her!” One of them yells as you burst into the moving crowd. 

Your head whips side to side, eyes searching for Mando but you can’t find him or the glint of his beskar. Your head spins from the hit you took before, but not able to spare another second, you throw yourself to the left, running as fast as your feet can take you. You hear blaster fire behind you, the screams of occupants of the market but you don’t look back. The only thing you can think of is getting out of here, and getting the child somewhere safe. 

“(Y/N)!”

You’ve never been so happy to hear someone say your name. 

“Mando!” You cry. 

He’s a few hundred yards away with his blaster in his hands, stance wide. The man is easy to pick out amongst the crowd with his gleaming armour, you’ve never seen anything more beautiful. You pant with exertion and make your way towards him, only to be stopped by someone yanking on the back of your ponytail. They pull you towards the ground and you land on your injured side. The yell of pain and surprise that escapes you startles the child and he starts to cry. You’re amazed it took him this long but the sound of it still pierces your heart. 

“One more step and I kill them!” Your attacker warns. You look up, squinting at the direct starlight and find the leader hovering above you once more, his blaster directly aimed at your head. His friends come into view as the crowd dissipates, shops shutting their doors and putting up shields in effort to stay ahead of the battle to come. 

“You’ll be dead before you pull the trigger.” Mando states plainly. His voice is so different from what it was like just ten minutes ago, an edge to it that reminds just how dangerous he really is. The little one in your arms quiet at the sound of his father’s voice and you too, feel the euphoria of knowing your savior is here. 

“We’re only here for the asset.” Clora announces. “But maybe we’ll let you live too.” 

“(Y/N).” Mando says, voice gentler now. You look away from the assailants and towards him, towards where his eyes would be behind the visor. He’s got a hand on his blaster and you can tell, even if your vision can’t penetrate past the tinted glass of his helmet to see where he’s looking, you can tell he’s speaking to you and no one else. 

“Protect the child.” 

You do as he says without a second thought, even though the cut your side screams in protest when you wrap yourself around the child. You tuck him into your chest, roll onto your hands and knees, and head ducking inwards to make yourself as small as possible. Dust kicks up around you, multiple shooters letting their blasters go off. There’s grunting and fighting that you can’t see, only hear. It only goes on for a few minutes before you hear metal make contact with flesh and someone crashing into wood.

“Up!” 

Mando’s voice has you looking up from your defensive stance and a gloved hand reaches down into the crook of your elbow to wrench you up, awful pain flaring up at your side. You ignore it and do as he says as best as you can, jaw aching from how clenched it’s been. He’s pulling you along and your feet stumble to keep up, barely dodging the blaster fire coming from behind you. You’re bleeding still and you feel it starting to drip down to saturate your trousers. Regardless, you allow Mando to pull you along as you hold onto the child, arms still tight around him.

“Into my ship!” Mando yells as your hangar gets closer. Your vision is swimming, your lungs burning and you barely have enough of your brain working to stumble up the metal ramp. The hatch closes behind you and Mando is already making his way up the cockpit for liftoff when your legs give out from under you.

You slump against a cool metal wall, the child wiggling his way out of your arms. You let him go, realizing just how tight you’ve been holding him. He doesn’t go too far, immediately crawling back onto your lap. He’s looking up at you, eyes wide and caring and you want to comfort him. There’s something about him that you can’t pinpoint, something that tells you that you both need each other. Before you can decipher exactly what that means, your vision goes black and your whole body drops to the ground.


	4. four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh honey. it is SLOW burn. S L O W .

They’re parsecs away from the planet before Din can calm down. He’s set the autopilot for a little random trip, not too far from the planet but enough to throw off anyone that may be tracking him. The fear that coursed through him earlier when he exited the clinic and couldn’t find (Y/N) or the child made everything he’s felt before pale in comparison. On the same spectrum, the joy that surged through his veins when he saw them running towards him was unlike anything he’s ever experienced. Only a few days in (Y/N)’s presence and he’s already so attached to her. 

“Buh!”

Din looks down to find his  _ ad’ika _ tugging at his trousers, features pulling his brows together in a facial expression of urgency. He gets up and scoops the child into his arms, following the child’s pointing hand towards where the elevator is. When Din doesn’t move, his son babbles again, loudly and dire as he continuously pulls on Din’s shirt.

“Alright, alright.” Din mumbles, making his way back down. 

He’s met with their engineer, unmoving and slumped over on the ground.

“ _ Osik _ .” He swears, moving to her side.  _ Shit _ . “(Y/N)? (Y/N)!” She doesn’t answer, knocked out cold and skin far too pale for Din’s liking. Din falls to his knees, allowing the little on to toddle out of the way. He whips a glove off and presses two fingers to the pulse point under her jawline, thankful to find a heartbeat. Thready and bare, yes, but a heartbeat nonetheless. 

Din reaches for her, one hand behind her neck and the other at her side to lay her straight. It’s not until he removes his touch does he find dark red blood staining his hands. Another swear falls from his tongue when he registers where it’s seeping from, realizing she must have gotten hurt and he just made it worse, dragging her along with no regard for her safety. With her heart pumping to keep up with him, she must have lost a lot of blood. 

“Stay with her, kid.” Din orders. “But  _ no _ healing, do you understand?” The little one just mewls, giving him a small nod before he places a hand on (Y/N)’s forehead comfortingly. Din quickly locates the medkit and pours out the supplies he bought earlier onto the floor of the ship beside (Y/N). Her blood stains everything he touches, the image of it making his head swim. It doesn’t take him long to find that the injury is on her left side, high up on her ribs. Din has to strip away the top of her jumpsuit, undershirt, and brassiere to get access to it.

He finds a nasty cut from a vibroblade, exacerbated by the actions of their earlier adventure. It’s a fairly clean cut, not deep enough for stitches or cauterization but certainly deep enough to kill her if not taken care of. It’s large as well, a good four to five inches up her ribs towards her breast. It’ll definitely scar and the guilt burns through him like wildfire. How could he let this innocent woman get hurt protecting  _ his _ foundling? 

Din pours a bottle of cleaning solution on it, sure to burn if she were awake. With a clean cloth, he wipes away as much blood as he can but it’s permeated into her underwear even. He sprays on some Bacta, finishing it off with medicated patches before going to find some clothes for her to change into. The uniform has to come off, as well as her underthings and the idea makes the guilt in Din’s stomach churn faster. 

It’s for her own safety. No wound should be allowed to fester in dirty clothes, the chances of infection skyrocket when they do but to see so much of her without her permission--it’s uncouth. It’s  _ unfair _ when she’s seen so little of him and will never see anymore. Regardless of the thought, Din does what is needed. He averts his eyes as much as he can but that’s hard to do when she’s dead weight in his arms and he’s got to cut through her clothes so as to not jostle the freshly bandaged wound. 

(Y/N) is a beautiful woman, through and through Din finds as he works. Her hands are creased and worn from labor, a plethora of small scars from toiling with electricity and metal are found all the way from her shin up to her shoulders. A small brown birthmark in the shape of an oval, no larger than a credit lays snug at the crevice between her right thigh and swell of her stomach. She’s supple under his manipulations and his helmet calculates hills and trajectories on her curves as if she’s a landscape. She’s an accumulation of every wet dream he had as a young boy and underneath the armor, Din is but a man himself. 

Din finds an old tunic of his and trousers that shrank once in the wash to give to (Y/N). A large sigh of relief comes from him when she’s fully dressed again and he tosses her bloody clothes away. Now what she needs is rest. He scoops her up in his arms, making way to the little closet that he deems his bed. When he comes across it, once again he’s swept away by a thoughtfulness he’s never known before. 

She’s upgraded it, the same way she did for the kid. From what Din can tell at first glance, she’s knocked out the back and sidewall to lengthen and widen it, fortifying the old cot with what is probably a real mattress. His old, threadbare blanket is still there, folded atop a new pillow that looks heavenly. (Y/N) didn’t have to do this. Her only job was to fix the ship, make her fly and presentable in space. 

No,  _ this _ was an act of tenderheartedness. Of love. 

Din’s heartbeat is loud in his ears as he lays her down, pulling the blanket over her body. Her face scrunches up in pain as he adjusts her so she’s comfortable, wisps of her hair escaping it’s confines and sticking to her temple with sweat. He brushes it away, bare fingertips brushing across her temple. It soothes her as her face loses it’s tenseness and smooths out. She takes up barely half of the space there, and Din has a fleeting thought that he would fit right beside her if he wanted to. 

“Uh, uh!” Din looks down to the sound, and it's the kid holding his arms out to be held. 

“It’s ‘up’.” Din corrects, reaching down for him. 

The kid doesn’t stay still in his arms, instead reaching out towards the bed and the bounty hunter complies with what he wants. The child crawls across the blankets to lay down right beside (Y/N), head by hers. The image warms him, the sweetness of it absolutely tooth-aching. The kid has never taken to someone this fast and Din supposes he’s no better. He’s become quite fond of the engineer in the short time they’ve crossed paths and she’s proven to be a loyal friend. With a press of a button, the room shuts and Din allows them to sleep.

It’s not until the next day does he hear the cabin doors open. Din jolts in his seat, sitting up straight. There’s a crick in his neck and he rolls his shoulders, knowing it’ll go away relatively soon. It’s not the first time he’s slept in the pilot's chair and it certainly will not be the last. Space is still flying by them and the coordinates show they’re not too far from (Y/N)’s home planet. 

Din finds his way down just as (Y/N) is pulling on her boots, the child in her lap. He’s relieved when he finds her complexion much brighter and he feels a jump in his chest when she spots him and smiles. How she can feel joy from seeing him is nearly unexplainable, all he’s done is put her in danger.

“You’re okay!” (Y/N) exclaims, padding over to him with the child in her arms. 

“Yeah, usually the one wearing beskar is.” He casually explains. It earns him a pretty laugh. Din memorizes that sound as well, hoping to be able to draw out laughs from her from now on. 

“Did you patch me up?” She asks him, head tilting to the side in question. “And change my clothes?” Din reddens under the helmet.

“Uh, yes.” He answers awkwardly. 

“So you saw…” 

Din gulps, grateful for the helmet that hides his reactions. He nods, knowing it’s an unavoidable truth and (Y/N) just takes in a deep breath of contemplation. She doesn’t turn shy or angry like he thought she would be, only licking her lips before speaking. 

“Well, thank you. I’m alive and you did a great job.” (Y/N) compliments, shifting the little one to her other side. The action makes her suck in a sharp breath, the pain no doubt throbbing by now.

“It’ll scar.” Din says. “I’m sorry. This wasn’t--It isn’t your fight.” (Y/N) shakes her head, brushing off his apology.

“It’s not your fault, Mando.” She murmurs gently. “They were after this little one and had a tracking fob of some sort. I think you picked up a stray with a little more history than you know.” 

“I do know.” Din admits, reaching for the kid. He comes happily and Din doesn't miss the confused look on (Y/N)’s face. “He was a bounty. I didn’t realize he was a child until I had found him.”

“And you couldn’t give him up.” (Y/N) finishes for him. She takes in a deep breath, crossing her arms and shakes her head at him. “You’re a big softie, aren’t you?”

“No.” Din denies, a little too quickly to be credible. He attempts to hide it by looking down and fussing with the child’s clothes. He goes as far as to walk away, reaching into some of the supplies he bought earlier to get the child something to eat. 

“Oh please, I’ve seen your true colors now, bounty hunter.” She continues to tease, following them across the room. “You could have easily left me to die but you didn’t.” 

Her inflection becomes more serious and Din looks back up to her face. Gone is the coy, vivid mechanic from a few moments ago, only to be replaced with what Din recognizes as gratitude. A lump forms in his throat and Din has to fight to swallow it down, reminding himself this isn’t the first time he’s seen a face like that. It’s only the first time it’s affected him so. 

“I couldn’t. The child is too fond of you.” Din grumbles quietly. She’s much closer than she was before and all her walking about has caused his too-large tunic to slide off her shoulder. The flash of skin has him whip his gaze away, his memories far too familiar with the curve of her collarbone. 

“And what about you?” (Y/N) asks. 

The question throws him off. 

“What about me?”

“Are  _ you _ fond of me?” 

It’s so sincere, the question, and forward that Din isn’t sure if he should answer honestly. Of course he’s fond of her. She’s bright and witty and so soul breakingly  _ good _ that she would have died for a child that she met not even five days before. Din is so fond of her, it actually scares him. He’s never been so attracted to someone else, not like this. The Creed doesn’t prevent him from having friends or lovers but generally, the helmet and history of Mandalorians has kept everyone at arm's length. 

More importantly, why is she asking? What kind of answer does she  _ want _ ? His thoughts churn and churn inside his head, and before he knows it, a whole minute has passed. 

“Oh, stars, I think I broke you. I’m just kidding!” (Y/N) laughs again, patting him on the shoulder before turning away, eyes searching for something back in the cot. Din lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding in and shuts his eyes for a moment to recompose himself.

“We’ll return back soon.” Din hears himself say, back to business. “I’ll pay you for your troubles.”

“Thanks, Mando but it’s no problem.” (Y/N) shoots him a grin, as if he hadn’t just put her life in danger a day ago. “So, what do you have to eat around here?” 

  
  
  


“Oh my Maker.” You murmur.

They robbed your hangar, all of it, the bastards. Your droids are gone, good ship parts taken and bad parts scrapped. Even inside your home there are remnants of someone rifling through your belongings, stealing clothes and furniture and food. You were barely gone a day and the whole town took advantage. A part of you isn’t all that surprised as one does what they can to survive out here, but a larger part is just  _ hurt _ . You’ve always kept your head down, done your job and didn’t bother a soul. 

“Those pieces of bantha shit.” You swear, stepping over a tipped over chair in your home. You knew it didn’t look right as the Razor Crest descended back into your hangar. Your droids didn’t come out to greet you as they did every ship, and your door was blasted off its hinges. 

“They took everything?” Mando asks from behind you. The little one is toddling around the room, claws rifling through some clothes someone dropped while running off as his father lingers behind. He disappears into the kitchen and you hope he finds something to snack on, if it hasn’t already been stolen. 

“Everything of value.” You answer with a sigh, turning back to him. “It’s going to take me forever to build things back up.” You run a hand down your face, trying to wipe away the betrayal and disappointment.   
“How long did it take the first time?” He inquires, thumb coming up to hook into his belt. 

“Jeral was kind enough to leave things to me when he died but it took years for this place to really turn a profit.” You say, wrapping your arms around yourself. Mando’s tunic scratches at your skin, the feel of it so different from your own clothes. Waking up in his things was strange, a shock but pleasant all the same. 

“You met Lorwa, Jeral’s cousin, right? He wasn’t really happy half the family business went to someone that wasn’t family so I had a bit of a rough start.” You explain. 

“He probably has all your belongings.” Mando deducts. 

“Yeah, but there’s no going against the Lorwa in this town.” You say dejectedly. “I suppose there’s nothing left for me here.” 

With another sigh you lean down to pick up what probably used to be a tool, but unknowable which one with all the wiring and viable metal stripped from it. You run your finger along a ridge, the metal still smooth to your touch. It all kind of hits you at once, the severity of your situation and you feel a burning sensation start in your eyes. You’re not generally a crier, but this isn’t exactly a happy moment. It’s all gone; your livelihood, sense of safety in your own home, your reputation in this town. In a matter of days, your whole life has changed. 

“I’m sorry. This is my fault.” Mando apologizes. You lift your head to face him, shaking your head and wiping away an escaped tear. You’re met with his helmet again, and for the first time since meeting the bounty hunter you wish you could see his face.

“I chose to help you, Mando.” You say, throwing the scraps to the ground. “That’s not your fault.” Mando waits as you dawdle around for a few more minutes, flipping furniture right up and surveying your wrecked home. 

“You could….You could come with us.” He suddenly suggests, tenderhearted. “The ship still needs work, and the kid--like you said, he needs a babysitter.” 

At the mention of him, the little one comes waddling back into the room with one of your favorite meat sticks in his hand. He comes immediately to your side, bypassing his dad and reaching up with his free hand. You laugh and sniffle, reaching down for him. He places a hand on your cheek and almost immediately you feel a wave of calm wash over you. It’s obvious what the decision is going to be. 

“You mean that?” You ask Mando delicately. “You don’t have to, I can take care of myself, you know.”

It’s an out. You have to give him an out because you know he’s just feeling guilty about what happened. You don’t want him to think he’s obligated to give you anything more than he already has, this crazy adventure. But he doesn’t take it like you think he will, walking over the mess on the ground to come stand in front of you and the little one in your arms. 

“Yes.” He answers firmly. “I can pay you, not a lot but I can. Not to mention the Crest hasn’t flown so well in years; you’re the best mechanic that has ever worked on her.”

“Jeeze, what kind of hacked up planets have you been landing on?” 

He laughs at this, the first time you’ve been able to get one out of him and your chest warms at the gorgeous timbre. His hand comes up and for a split second, you think he’s going to touch you. You find yourself waiting for it, the second feeling like an hour but he pauses when you look up at him. His fingers go for the child instead, scratching behind his ear and bringing forth a happy laugh. 

“That’s why we need you.” 

Need you. Need you.  _ Need you _ . No one has ever needed you before. The thought of it makes you want to cry again and the little one nuzzles to you closer, a source of comfort amongst all this change. 

“Okay.”


	5. five

Electricity bites at your fingertips as the cables you’re welding together sparks and you draw your hand back with a swear. You shake your injured appendage, trying to rid it of a strange tingling sensation you feel that reaches all the way to your wrist. Smoke wafts up from your middle digit, a lighting strike of burnt material webbing into your palm from the tip. The thin gloves you wear are meant to prevent electricity from shocking you but you know the fact that what you just felt means they’re too worn down for further use. 

“Kriff.” You curse, tossing your tool onto the ground so you can use your other hand and take off the glove. Your skin is fine, if not a little tinged from the fight you just had with the Crest’s inner wiring. You’ll need to get another pair before you leave this planet. With a sigh you step back from your work, surveying it with a lip between your teeth. 

“Ah?” A coo comes from your feet and you look down the little bean with a claw on your shin.  _ Is it going okay? _ , you feel like he’s asking. 

“Unfortunately, it is not going okay.” You answer with a huff. “How is it possible that two wires that are supposed to be polarly charged just are not? Did someone just throw out the rulebook while building this ship?” 

“Hrmm.” He goes, poking his head into the opening of the cabin wall that you made.  _ Can I try? _ You think he says.

“Yeah, you go explore. Maybe you can fix this stupid thing better than I can.” You scoff. You’re not too worried as he wiggles his way into the opening, you can always grab him if something starts smoking. Not to mention, the little one is a lot smarter than you thought he would be. Mando says he’s fifty years old which is hilarious, as sometimes you catch him eating his own foot in the pram. 

You walk to the kitchen, tucking your datapad under your arm whilst you hold your injured hand under a stream of cold water in the sink. It’s starting to throb a little but you’ve dealt with injuries that were far worse. As you stand there, you place your datapad on the counter and check the time. Mando’s been gone nearly a whole day now, and that’s fine. He always leaves you and the child with nearly a month's worth of supplies before a hunt and you’ve been fixing up ships since you could walk. If need be, you’d fly the Crest and find a place for you and the child to settle. 

It worries you still. Mando is a very skilled bounty hunter, a dangerous one with years of expertise. You know he can handle himself, you  _ know  _ it. Yet, the worry that you feel when he goes too long with checking in makes the anxiety balloon in your chest, tighter and tighter until it feels like you’re going to burst into a hundred pieces. The only thing that can make it deflate is the sight of Mando on the horizon, a body dragging behind him in cuffs and his beskar bright in the light. 

You tell yourself your feelings are normal, platonic even. Who wouldn’t worry about the person that acquires your credits? The person, who if perished, would leave a child behind? A little part of you is smarter though as it recognizes where the worry stems from, a crevice in your soul that hasn’t seen light in so long. The logical side of you tells you to snip these emotions at the bud before they flower. It’s too dangerous to start to fall for a man who only has one goal, and it’s not a goal of romance. 

You hear the hatch to the ship creaking as it opens and promptly turn the water off, shaking off the excess droplets and swiping the leftover dampness on your thigh. There’s no alarm in your veins, the only one with access are you and Mando. You hear the little one coo in question, and briefly you wonder at what. 

“Hey, Mando, you’re home.” You say, walking around the corner to greet him. He grunts in response, dragging either a dead or unconscious body in behind him with one hand and gripping his blaster in the other. He pulls along the bounty without looking at you or the child, straight to the carbon freezing unit and heaving the body up into one of the last slots available.

He’s annoyed. You can tell by his demeanor, something you’ve got plenty of time to get used to as of late. An easy, agreeable bounty usually meant the child was met with a head pat and you an amicable nod. Bounties that are much more difficult, such as this one, usually lead to what you just were met with.

“You alright?” You ask him, moving as he moves past you to punch the controls on the ship wall, sealing up your home once again.

“Fine.” He says curtly. You’re not quite convinced, and that's when you notice why he seems to be in such a bad mood.

“You’re hurt.” You realize with sadness, steppings towards him to get a better look. 

“It’s not that bad.” Mando murmurs, looking down at himself.

“What  _ is _ it?” 

“The bounty had a guard. Biological terrors with their spikes.” Mando explains. “I’ve removed most of them.”

You didn’t notice at first, not against the darkness of his cloak and everyday wear but now a bit more up close, you find multiple little black needles protruding from the gaps in his beskar. There’s one sticking out near his right armpit, cleverly finding an opening between the pauldron and layered vest, and another high up near his left collarbone through all the layers of cloth. You see patches of dark red on the browns of his shirt sleeves where he’s pulled out other spikes by the inner flesh of his elbow as well as his upper thighs.

“Uh, most?” You question, an eyebrow rising. 

“Some are stuck and well...there’s just a lot.” He turns around and you suck in a hissing breath at the array along his back and legs. 

“Do--Do they hurt?” You ask worriedly. You reach out and poke at one of the longer spikes and Mando flinches away from you with a grunt as an answer to your question. Apologies tumble out from your lips but he just shakes his head. 

“I’m going to go take care of them.” He tells you. The hunter breezes right past you, making his way to the cockpit and your lip finds an anxious home between your teeth.

“Buh?” A little bean goes at your feet. You reach down and take him in your arms, rubbing between his shoulder blades.

“Your  _ buir _ is tired, but he’ll be okay.” You explain. “Come on, now. Nap time.” 

You take your time, settling the child into his blankets with one last cup of warm bantha milk before finding some medical supplies that you know Mando is going to need if you counted the number of spikes on him correctly. With your arms full, you go to find him but make sure to keep your eyes closed as you step into the room.

“Everyone in here decent?” You ask teasingly. You’ve yet to breach Mando’s privacy or inadvertently break his Creed in the few short months you’ve been with him on this ship and plan to keep it that way. 

“One second...Yes.” 

You drop your hand from your face and you’re met with someone who is actually very  _ not _ decent. I guess to Mando, decent means something different because he’s sitting in his chair half naked, shirt thrown haphazardly on the ground beside him with his helmet back on his head. He’s all tan skin and muscle which surprises you as, well, you thought he was green? It’s an intelligent inference as his  _ son _ is green. You didn’t know if Mando was 100% human, perhaps a hybrid which is seen more often lately. 

It’s quite jarring to see him so normal honestly, and your brows shoot to the top of your head. There’s no hiding your expression and immediately you flush red at your juvenile reaction. It’s not as if you’ve never seen a shirtless man before but seeing  _ Mando _ shirtless is just not something you’d ever thought you’d experience.

“Um, I brought you some extra supplies.” You say a tad awkwardly, walking towards the chair you frequent. You plop down on it, the gauze and Bacta falling into your lap. 

“Thanks.” After his short answer, Mando returns his attention to a quill stuck by his neck, right above his collarbone. 

You watch with a morbid fascination as he tilts up his helmet to prevent the other end of the quill pricking him in the jaw as he pulls it out, baring to you the length of his neck. His muscles in his arm and shoulder tense as he jerks the quill out of his skin with a low grunt, his abdomen flexing in reaction to the pain. Afterwards, he tosses the quill onto the floor to meet its brothers and sisters with ease. 

There must be something wrong with you because it was incredibly  _ attractive _ . 

“You’re bleeding.” You find yourself saying breathlessly, eyes focused on the bright trail of blood starting to make its way down his body. You sift through the medical supplies on your lap to find some gauze. Before you can evaluate the situation or what you’re doing, you reach forward and press the white cloth to his skin, the hardness of his collarbone palpable underneath. 

It’s the most you’ve touched him. There are quick passes in the hall, brushes of your skin against him when you pass the child to each other and even once in a while, a praising pat on your shoulder from Mando when you find a way to make his ship more efficient. He’s a solid figure, hard to move around and move around him you must because he’s so used to being on his own on this ship that he doesn’t know how to move around  _ you _ . But now, as you dab at the blood that wells up from his wound, he feels more real than he has in months. He feels like a person, and not just an entity wrapped up in beskar. 

“Thank you.” Mando hums, voice dropping an octave. 

“Can you--do you want some help reaching the ones on your back?” You ask him, dropping your hand from his collarbone. You lift your face, taking in a breath of bravery to meet his steady gaze. 

“If you can.” His short answer can be taken by others as curt but you feel like you know him enough by now. He’s just a man of few words.   
“Okay, turn around.” You order, waving your finger in circles to demonstrate. He gives a short laugh but does as he’s told and you see about half a dozen needles that he’s yet to remove from his skin. There’s a pattern to them, and you recognize it as all the vulnerable spots in his armour that allowed the projectiles to find their home in his skin. 

“You really have to yank them out.” Mando tells you, leaning forward onto his elbows. “I think some are barbed.”

“Kriff, really?” You ask in disbelief. “I’m sorry.”

“Part of the job.” He says without complaint. His response makes you a tad bit sad. No one should expect to get mauled on the job, not like this. 

“Are you ready then?” You inquire softly, standing up from your seat. He nods casually and you take in a deep breath before reaching for the first one. 

You place a hand on his opposite shoulder for leverage and he flinches. He’s hot under your touch, heart beating strong under his skin. You pause there for a second, allowing him to get used to your touch before squeezing his shoulder in what you hope is in a comforting way. It doesn’t seem to be because he stays tense, shoulder muscles rippling.

“It’ll hurt less if you relax, Mando.” You tell him. 

You practically hear the gears turn in his head as he looks down as his own hands but after a minute, with your touch still on his shoulder, he starts to soften. You rub your thumb across his skin, an action that soothes the child and you soon find out, also his father. The pad of your finger moves over a small red ridge of a scar and you ponder where that particular one came from. He’s covered in the marks, memories of wars and battles so gruesome you could never even fathom. You want to run your fingers over each and every single one, hoping to absorb their stories. 

You hone your focus back to the task on hand. The quill is textured, giving you a decent grip on it and you hold it tight between your pointer finger and thumb. You take in a deep breath, just to steady yourself and quickly pull the needle from his skin. It comes out clean, thank the Maker, and you throw it onto the growing pile on the floor. You grab a piece of gauze and press it over the wound, the blood bright and red under your fingers. 

“You okay?” You ask him, leaning to the side to catch him nodding. His hands are clenched in fists, white at the knuckles between his knees. 

“Yes, just keep going.”

It’s gruesome work honestly, and you’re not medic. The materials you work with are always unyielding, hard tangible metal that bends only to strength. You fix but you don’t  _ heal _ , not in the way Mando needs right now. Every time he hisses or grunts in pain makes you feel more and more guilty, and while you know this isn’t your fault, you wish you had more skills in your toolbelt to help him. 

“So, tell me something.” You say to distract him as you swipe at the little pinprick wounds on his back with an alcohol soaked pad to clean them. You’ve heard that from a nurse once that distracting a patient with conversation helps with the pain. 

“What do you want to know?” You think for a moment, sifting through the list of questions in your head that has been piling up. 

“Tell me something about Mandalorians.” You decide on. “I don't know much about your religion.”

“There’s not many of us left.” He sounds sad about that and you suppose you would be too if your planet got wiped out. 

“No?”

“No, but the Tribe is close-knit.” He states nostalgically. “A family.” A family. You get awfully sad for a moment, the faces of your mother and father blank and nonexistent in your memory.

“That’s...really nice.” Your voice wobbles without your permission and Mando obviously hears it. He straightens in his seat and twists so he can look at you and thankfully, you don’t burst into tears. 

“And your family?” He asks slowly.

“I don’t have one.” Mando looks at you for a moment longer, a moment that feels like a year before he tilts his head in question. The action urges you to go on. “I grew up in an orphanage.” You finally offer, gently twisting him back around so you can keep working. 

“A nice one?” He wonders.

“As nice as an orphanage can be.” You confess with a small laugh. “I ate everyday and never got beat too bad if that’s what you’re really asking. I was the oldest for a while so I took care of the little ones, that’s why I’m good with the kid.”

“You’re amazing with him, better than I’ve ever been.” Mando says. 

“Babies are easy, wait till he’s a teenager.” You joke, placing the last patch on his back. You walk back around and take a seat in your chair, Mando facing you as you prepare a few more patches for his chest and arms. 

“Ah?” The sound has you looking to the doorway to find Mando’s son standing there, ears tilted with his head as he looks at the two of you. 

“Speak of the womp rat.” You laugh. “Hey bean, up from your nap?”

“Hello,  _ ad’ika _ .” Mando says lovingly, reaching out a hand for the child. He toddles over, yawning and rubbing away the last traces of sleep from his eyes. Mando pulls the child onto his lap as you run through the last of your supplies, already dwindling low even though you swear you guys just stocked up. 

“Mando, I think we have some extra bandages downstairs. I’m going to go--” You begin, placing your collection on the ground beside you.

“ **_Stop_ ** .” It’s a tone of voice you’ve never heard from Mando before and it actually makes you flinch with how  _ hard _ it is. You look over to him, brows furrowed together in confusion when you catch him holding the little bean hand in his own larger one. The child whimpers, ears drooping in a way you’ve never seen before.

“No, I’ll be fine.” Mando assures the kid. “No more of that.”

“None of what?” You demand. Your interjection has Mando looking up from the child, no facial expression for you to learn from. The little one turns his head too, and you see his hand placed upon his father’s chest.

Which is healed.

Perhaps you’re dreaming, or have gone insane but you swear--you  _ swear _ he had puncture wounds on his front. You touched one, cleaned blood off of it and yet the skin you're looking at now is clear and clean. Not a single trace of injury.

“Nothing.” The answer is so obviously a lie that you can’t help but give him a perplexed look. “It’s nothing, (Y/N).” He repeats, a hint of desperation in his tone. 

“But--your chest--I--” You reach forward, much like before but your fingertips merely meet unmarred skin by the little ones' claws. Mando’s chest shudders with a breath, a hand coming up to hold yours. His fingers wrap around your own, no doubt feeling the ricochet of your heart against your ribs. It causes your gaze to flicker up to his face, his helmet which now frustrates you. If only you knew what kind of face he was making.

“The less you know, the better.” Mando states. “Alright?” 

You want to argue. That’s bullshit. Is he not human? Is he hooked up to a can of Bacta somewhere? How did he heal so fast? The questions spin in your head like a moon around a planet but stop short when Mando squeezes your fingers with his. 

“Please.” He implores. His voice sounds desperate, something you’ve never heard before and while you want to know more than anything what in Maker’s name is going on, you want more for your bounty hunter to relax. Deep inside you, you know that if needed, he will tell you. 

“Alright.” You say quietly, squeezing his fingers back in reassurance. “Alright.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is .... soft <3


	6. six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I read every comment and am grateful for every kudos!! thank you so much for everyone that has been reading so far <3

The swampy planet is hot, and not the type of hot like it was on (Y/N)’s planet where the nights brought along cooling breezes and a drop in the temperature. This planet is humid and it makes the canvas of Din’s clothes stick to him in an uncomfortable, dank disposition. Even his armour is eternally wet to the touch and his visor fogs up at every change of environment. He’s going to need hours in the fresher to wash away the sweat that won’t wick away from his skin. 

Din prefers the cold to this particular hellish atmosphere, keeping his ship frigid most of the time. At first, it was out of necessity, his engines always overheating with use. With (Y/N) onboard now though, everything is running smoothly and the cold condition of his ship is merely habit. She’s improved nearly every aspect of his life on the Crest and not just with her skills as a phenomenal engineer. 

The ship is cleaner than before, the child no longer showing up randomly with a vibroblade or plasma cartridge Din had misplaced. There’s often food already plated for him and left on his seat during meal times. Even the kid is on a sleep schedule and because of it, he’s so less grumpy than before. Din didn’t realize a child would need something like that, as he catches sleep two to three hours at a time. (Y/N)'s magic in how she’s able to tell almost exactly what the kid needs every time he cries for something and having someone to care for the child while Din finds bounties allows him to be much less tense than before. 

Like right now, he’s able to focus on gathering a massive amount of supplies. He’s long overdue for a visit to the covert, finally situated in a new location on a different planet. The Armorer sent him the new coordinates, and he knows they will need much of everything to get settled. The foundlings, as well as his brethren, need his help. It’s the least he can do after uprooting them. The last few bounties have been profitable and smooth so he has plenty of credits to spend after refueling and paying (Y/N) her share. 

He gathers the necessities first, a dozen or so shirts and pants in an assortment of sizes and then socks and shoes in the same manner for the children and foundlings. From the Armorer’s coordinates, Din assumes the planet is fairly cold so he finds some extra fabric for sweaters and perhaps coats if needed. Next into his trolley is more than enough food and drink rations, some nutrition pills, and powdered milks for any infants. The village is happy to supply him with everything he needs, eyes merely focused on the glint of his credits. 

A sparkle in the sunlight catches Din’s eye. A few hundred yards away is a vendor selling small trinkets, necklaces and bracelets and earrings. Din finds his feet taking him towards it though he has no need for such frivolities and the merchant beams as they spot the Mandalorian that’s been paying for things without hesitation for the past hour. 

“Sssir! Welcome, welcome!” The sentient reptilian says, waving Din over with a four clawed hand. “I have ssssomething jusst for you!” Din doesn’t answer, just watches slowly as the lizard man lowers behind the counter. The sounds of a lock opening reach his ears before the merchant rises. 

“Pure bessskar.” The vendor informs him, slithering tongue peeking out from between his lips. Din looks into the hand that the vendor holds out and finds a necklace. 

There’s a glint in his pupils that Din isn’t sure he likes but the shine off the pendant is very similar to his own armour. He reaches out and plucks it from the vendor’s grip, allowing the trinket to fall into the palm of his gloved hand. How this merchant came across true beskar is a mystery to him but ever since the Great Purge, Din knows that plenty of the metal has switched from unsavory hand to unsavory hand. It’s not that much of a surprise to find it on this planet.

It’s no mythosaur but beautiful nonetheless, a thin even disk of the same material as his armour hung onto a leather strap. Din grips it between his fingers and taps it against his pauldron, the clear ring a beautiful sound in the hum of the crowd confirming the merchants claim. The necklace is in need of a good polishing but even with the improper care, Din knows it can return to its former glory with a bit of attention. 

Immediately, he thinks of (Y/N). She’s been so wonderful these past few months, aiding him in every way imaginable. The ship, while small, seems larger with her presence and every time Din thinks of her, he’s met with an image of her smile burned into the back of his eyelids. The touch of her fingertips on his skin have left ghosts that haunt him at night, aching to experience it again. Her lips, stretched across her face as she gazes up at him and the sound of the child's laugh are most likely going to be the last thing he thinks of when he dies. What a dangerous thought, an unyielding loyalty to a woman he’s known for such a little amount of time. 

“How much?” Din asks. The vendor spits out a number so ridiculously high Din almost wants to punch him. “Excuse me?” Din snaps without meaning to. His aura tends to come across as threatening, even when he doesn’t mean to and the lizard man shrinks slightly as Din’s temper rears its head. 

“Oh, oh, for a true Mandalorian I guessss I can give you a better ssssum. ” The merchant laughs nervously and corrects himself, giving Din a much more appropriate price. 

The exchange is smooth and Din tucks the present into his belt. His heart flutters at the thought of giving it to (Y/N). It’s Mandalorian tradition to give beskar as a request for marriage, an old tradition that still holds plenty of weight in his Tribe. But his signet isn’t soldered to the beskar, not in the way it would be if the Tribe approved of his choice, giving him the permission to marry his intended. His signature on the gift would be a beacon for all other Mandalorians to know that she’s not available and any offense to her is a direct offense to him, a symbol of her loyalty to him in every way a person can be loyal. 

Does it really count if she’s not Mandalorian? It won’t mean the same to her as it will to him. She’s the only woman he’s ever met that he’s ever even come close to think about courting. He’s not good with women, never needed to be in his line of work. It’s easier if she doesn’t know, Din realizes. It’s too much history to explain, too much of his heart on his sleeve. A pretty necklace is all it will be. 

The trek back to the ship is only easy because of the floating pad being him that carries all of his purchases. He polishes the necklace on the way, satisfied with the way it’s shining now. His ship comes into view as well the small lake that they landed next to much earlier this morning. The helmet picks up two life forms playing on the shore of the water and DIn recognizes the bodies as the kid and (Y/N).

It’s not until he gets much, much closer that he realizes she’s practically  _ naked _ . 

At first, he doesn’t even notice it, too busy sending the full pallet up the ramp of the ship. As he turns back around towards the lake, a small green bean in all it’s freshly birthed glory falls onto his boots. The child babbles something incomprehensible with a bright toothy grin, dripping wet and darkening the leather of Din’s shoes. He melts at the sight, the carefree nature of his  _ a’dika. _

Then he glances up and finds (Y/N) in the crystal clear water of the lake in nothing but her underwear and breast band. 

Din has to remind himself to breathe. It’s not as if he’s never seen (Y/N) bare this much skin before, the image of it still weighing heavily on him at night when he’s trying to rest. The memory of it assaults his senses during his very few minutes in the fresher while he tries to relieve stress that’s accumulated with (Y/N) running around the ship in his shirts and far too small shorts. Regardless of the logical course of his thoughts, Din still finds himself staring at her as she rises from the water.

She waves at him before leaning down and grabbing a towel from the grass to wrap around herself. Din tears his gaze away, breath shaking as he reaches down for the kid to distract him. It doesn’t help and soon enough, she’s right in front of him with a smile that he finds himself getting addicted to. Her hair is wet and plastered to her scalp, a million water droplets glistening and streaking across her skin. The injury on her left side has healed well, even scarred in a way that left nothing but white instead of the angry red that Din is accustomed to on his own body. 

“Hey, did you get everything you need?” (Y/N) asks, using the edge of her towel to wipe at the little one’s cheeks. How can she be so casual when Din’s brain is melting inside his helmet? When his heart is roaring in his ears? 

“Yes.” Din answers curtly, turning away. He brings the child up the ramp and he hears (Y/N) follow from behind him after grabbing their fallen clothes. 

“The child loves to swim. He’s really good at it!” (Y/N) informs him, voice echoing off metal walls. 

“Is that so?” He finds himself responding. 

“I think this planet must be very similar to his home. He’s never been so giddy.” She’s right about that at least before disappearing around the corner to find some clothes, thank the Maker.

Din finds the child’s robe discarded by the ramp and picks it up, whipping the fabric to get the dust off. After a bit of wriggling, his  _ a’dika _ is dressed again even if unhappily so and Din places him on the ground to go explore. He returns to the pilot’s chair, preparing to lift off to their next destination; the Tribe. It’s far, two weeks in hyperspace but they’re well stocked and Din knows there’s no New Republic territories on the way which always makes things easier.

A few moments later, (Y/N) reappears with his child in tow, dressed in  _ his  _ shirt and a pair of thick socks. If she’s wearing any sort of pants, Din can’t tell as the shirt is far too large on her and skirts past her bottom. Sometimes he wonders what she packed in her bag when leaving her home planet because it doesn’t seem like she’s got enough clothes. The little one sits to Din’s right, eating yet again and (Y/N) seats herself to his left, towel drying her hair. It’s absolutely sinful, the way she looks, and absolutely perplexing how comfortable she is being nearly naked around him. 

Does she not realize he’s a man underneath the armor? It’s infuriating. She dresses whatever way she wants but Maker, it’s not just that. (Y/N) is  _ touchy _ . If it’s not yet obvious, Din isn’t--no Mandalorians are. The coverage of his skin, his leather gloves, his armour; it’s not just for protection during the job, it’s his Creed. While his helmet is the most important part of the oath he swore, the rest of it still applies so Din isn’t quite used to anyone touching him, nevermind in the manner (Y/N) does. 

At first, Din believed it was because of the small size of the ship, a huge downgrade from her hangar, spacious mechanic shop and home. She would brush up against him walking opposite directions or their knees would knock as they got up from the chairs in the cockpit. But then he realizes it gets more purposeful, a hand at the crook of his elbow as a goodbye before he leaves, a pat on his thigh when he says something that is particularly funny to her. She sits right beside him in cantina’s, close enough that he can feel her body heat even through the beskar. 

It drives him insane because he can’t pinpoint  _ why _ she acts like this, if it’s just in her nature or if...if she feels something for him. 

“Where to next?” (Y/N) asks him as she straps in the child, swiftly doing the same for herself as the Crest rises from the ground.

“I need to take the supplies back to the Tribe.” Din answers, refusing to turn back and look at her while he speaks lest he give into temptation. He busies himself with piloting the ship manually instead of putting it on automatic. 

“I’ll get to meet your family then?” She sounds hopeful and Din hates to burst her bubble. He doesn’t have any family, not in the sense she’s talking about anyways. 

“You’ve already met the most important member.” Din gestures towards the child with his helmet and the little one babbles in response. 

“What about your parents?” She continues to ask. He pauses. He doesn’t know how to approach this delicately. 

“Dead.” The single worded answer sounds harsh in the air, but transparency is the best policy. 

“Mine too, probably.” This makes him actually turn around, eyes connecting with (Y/N)’s. He knew that already. Orphans are all too often orphans because their parents have passed away. 

“I’m sorry.” Din hears himself say sincerely. (Y/N) shrugs, tight smile on her lips.

“It’s no big deal, I never knew them.” She explains, tone lighter than it should be for the topic of their conversation. Din feels the need to reciprocate her divulgence. 

“It was during conflict.” Din starts, the words foreign on his tongue as he’s never spoken them to anyone before. “The Separist forces were waging a battle during the Clone Wars on my home planet. A Mandalorian managed to save my life.”

“You’re a foundling.” She realizes with awe and Din nods in confirmation. “No wonder you care so much about the little bean. He’s lucky to have you.”

Din wants to deny that as it’s the other way around. Before the child, he did whatever he wanted whenever he wanted. There was no risk he couldn’t take as long as the reward matched up. He dropped bodies without a second thought, doing anything necessary to get to the quarry. It’s different now though with two people to take care of, two people that he cares about very much. 

The  _ dinui _ burns in his waistband and Din reaches for it before his courage can escape him. He turns around fully in his chair, knees knocking with hers and (Y/N) brings her attention to him, eyebrows raising in question. Din holds out his palm, the glinting metal prettier than he remembers. He watches as she slowly registers what he’s doing and the absolute delight that appears on her face makes Din’s heart soar. 

“For me?” Din nods and surprises himself by not flinching when her warm fingers pick up the gift from his palm. 

“It’s beskar.” He says softly. 

“Like,  _ real _ beskar?” She laughs in disbelief when he nods again, thumb running over the smooth top. “Look, sweetie, we match now!” She exclaimed, holding up the pendant for the child to see. Din grins underneath the helmet when the little one pulls out his own beskar necklace only to stuff it in his mouth and gnaw on it. 

(Y/N) merely laughs at the sight of it and Din’s cheeks ache from smiling. Her eyes lift from the necklace, piercing his own and the next few moments happen so slowly and so quickly at the same time that the action doesn’t even strike home until it’s done.

(Y/N) leans forward, shuts her eyes and places a kiss on his helmet, right where his lips would be if he didn’t have it on. 

“Put it on for me?” (Y/N) places the necklace back in his hand before turning around and lifting her hair. It takes his brain a moment to catch up with real life and Din has to take in a shaky breath. 

Din’s tongue comes out to wet his lips which have never been drier than this moment and it takes all his mental power to do as she says. Eyes focused on wisps of baby hair at the base of her scalp, the hunter threads the leather strap around (Y/N)’s neck. The string is too short, Din thinks but he ties it with clumsy, leather-clad fingers anyways and when (Y/N) turns back around he truly forgets how to function.

“How does it look?” She asks, smiling genuinely at him. Any thoughts of the strap being too short dissipate as the beskar pendant falls perfectly into the hollow of her throat. It’s unusual to see another being with beskar, one that wasn’t already dripping in it as a Mandalorian and a strange feeling of possessiveness flows through Din’s skin. 

“ _ Mesh’la _ .” Din answers, the Mando’a slipping from his tongue. Before he can correct himself, the little one is at their feet, tugging on Din’s pants to be held. (Y/N) giggles and does the work instead, bringing him onto her lap.

His child reaches up towards (Y/N)’s new adornment, mewling happily at the sight of it as his other hand touches his own. Din feels his soul vibrate inside his bones as he gazes upon his clan and their newest member, the sensation of having a full one so new and gratifying. The idea that he was whole before without them is laughable and Din knows there is no future without them with him on this ship. 

A surety rises up in him. Din loves them. Din loves her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> its lov!!!!


	7. seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow, every single comment from the last chapter has made me <3333333  
> thank you so much, guys. i hope you love this chapter !!

You’ve never been to Navarro before and the volcanoes on the surface make the air a little ashier than you’d like. By the time you make it there, the sun has already set but Mando seems pressed to get to a particular cantina that he says his next job is at. This isn’t the planet that his Tribe is situated on but it is where he gets the pucks for his quarries which will fund the fuel and supplies needed to get there. A small pitstop, he had promised the other day. Apparently whatever he bought at the last market was more expensive than he was expecting, and one more job needed to be done to fuel the way to the Tribe. 

“Lots of bounty hunters here.” Mando says, pausing right before opening the hatch of the ship. 

“Your kind of people then?” You ask him, situating the child’s satchel across your chest. You hate for the little one to be cooped up in the pod everytime you guys land somewhere, so you’ve taken to having him in a sling. It’s comforting to the both of you, being on strange planets so often, to have your heartbeats synchronize.

“Hardly. Just stay close,  _ ner kar’ta _ .” The Mando’a he speaks always makes his voice tender and the way he’s looking at you, or at least you think he is behind the visor, makes your heart thud in your chest. You never know what the words mean, speaking only Basic yourself, but from the context you can infer they’re pet names. 

“Always.” You reply with a smile. “I’ll even hold your hand to make you feel better.” You chuckle at your addition and Mando merely holds your gaze. 

You don’t expect for him to hold out his hand. You look at it confused at first, wondering what he could be asking you for but then you realize that he’s keeping you to your word. The child’s questioning coo makes it obvious that this gesture isn’t….normal. But you take it before Mando can think twice. You reach forward and lock your fingers with his, reveling in the soft leather underneath your touch. 

The walk is quiet in the dark, even with your heartbeat beating so hard you feel it in your stomach. You wonder if Mando can feel it through the leather of his gloves. It’s so strangely normal, holding hands as he walks you through the crowd and you feel like you’re dreaming it. You’ve dreamt of it before and your dreams are filled with little moments like this. But that’s all it is, a dream of being Mando’s and him being yours. 

Maker, you’re an absolute, kriffing idiot. Out of all the people, all the  _ beings _ in the blasted galaxy to garner feelings for, you do it for a Mandalorian. You do it for a man who can’t even show you his face, whose voice you’ve never even  _ heard _ . 

He’s different lately, more open and himself; not that hunter he has to pretend to be out in public in front of his enemies. He’s just a man, one with a laugh that makes serotonin flood your brain and a voice that gives you goosebumps late at night with the stars whizzing past. You don’t know when it began, perhaps somewhere between the third and fifth planet but that wall he keeps up for everyone else began to fall away for you. It was not as if you gave him much choice really, being the small ship didn’t allow for either of you to hide anything from each other. 

But more than anything, you wanted it. You pushed for it, sitting patiently at the foot of his stoicness, yearning for all the memories he wanted to keep hidden away. You didn’t realize but you had been touchstarved on that lonely planet, living by yourself with only the company of droids or casual friends that would-- _ did _ rob you when given a chance. You fed yourself with Mando without meaning to, when the child had enough of your cuddling. 

At first, the Mandalorian jumped whenever you touched him. You remembered when he pulled a blade and had your back pressed up against the cold metal of a ship before you could even take in another breath. The tension was palpable then, mostly emanating from him because all you wanted to do was give him his dinner. Every touch after that was a bit more calculated, always coming from where he can see you, always going slowly just in case he didn’t want it. 

He wants it though. You can tell by the way he leans towards you, helmet tilting to the side to let you know he’s listening. You can tell he desires intimacy just as much as you when he stands a hair too close, touch lingering for longer than necessary in the safe confines of the ship you share with him. 

How could your heart ever stand a chance? 

“We’re meeting a man named Greef Karga.” Mando informs you, coming up to a shady looking little cantina. “He’s an agent for the Bounty Hunter’s Guild. Cara might be here as well.”

“An old flame?” You wonder at the feminine name. There’s no jealousy there, you’re merely curious.

“No. She beat me up when we first met.” You laugh. 

“Sounds like my kind of gal.” Mando turns his head to you and you just give him a cheeky grin. He’s probably rolling his eyes under that helmet.

“Mando! Is that you? Maker, it  _ is _ you!” The man who the voice belongs to is standing up at a booth and table, waving animatedly at the three of you. He’s older than you are, hair cropped short and white stubble around his mouth. 

Mando removes his hand from yours, only to place it around your waist to guide you to who you assume is Greef Karga. That’s a new gesture as well, arms around you in public and you don’t mind in the least bit. The little shows of possessiveness you get from him are delicious, and you soak in every touch and every glare he gives to keep the general public a good five steps away from you. It’s very convenient you find, never having to worry about pickpockets. Only the extremely desperate would try and steal from a Mandalorian’s ward, and if they’re that desperate they might as well have it. 

You get closer and closer, finding another body at the table with Greef Karga, still sitting and sipping on a glass of bright blue spotchka. She’s beautiful and strong, stripes at her arm and teardrop on her cheek letting you know this must be the one that gave Mando a fight. When you and the child arrive, she looks up from the data pad she’s got on the table, eyes looking at you up and down without shyness.

“Picked up another one, Mando?” She asks, smirking at your Mandalorian. You laugh at that, hand patting the baby’s back. 

“Cara. Greef Karga.” Mando greets, all business per usual. “This is (Y/N). She’s the ship’s mechanic.”

“Hello.” You say, giving each of them a polite nod. The child begins to fuss, peeking it’s head out of it’s satchel and you remove him from the sling to hold him in your arms. He reaches for your chin, as he always does and when your skin meets his, you know what he wants almost immediately; food, as always. 

“Oh, there he is! The little green bastard!” Greef Karga laughs heartily and reaches for the baby but you step back, eyes turning to Mando. He nods and only then do you let the man scoop your little bean out of your arms. It doesn’t stop the nervousness streaming through your veins though, even as everyone sits down for a drink. You order something to eat for the child as well, a large portion for the whole table to share. 

“You’re just as protective of that little thing as Mando as.” Cara comments, right by your side. 

“Hard not to be. There’s something about him.” You tell her wistfully. 

“Tell me about it!” Greef Karga exclaims, rubbing a smudge off the child’s cheek. “He saved my life.” 

“Nearly got  _ me  _ killed.” Cara grumbles. “A run-in with the Empire was not what I needed.”

“The Empire?” You say, utterly shocked. They were disbanded, or so you thought. “How in Maker’s name did that happen?”

“You haven’t told her, Mando?” Cara asks, eyebrows rising on her face. You’re a little hurt by that. It’s not like you’ve ever asked about his history in depth, but it still feels a bit like a lie. 

“The Empire wanted him, I killed Moff Gideon, it’s over.” Mando explains, plainly as if that’s all one needs to know. “But that’s not what we’re here for. I need a job.”

“Like I promised, you get your pick of quarries.” Greef Karga grins and hands the child over to Cara. You suppress a laugh when she holds the child out at arms length, looking at him as if he’s about to spit up on her. 

“Give him Prince Toru’s puck.” Cara instructs, quickly handing the child to you once you hold your arms out for him. 

“Prince Toru of Grindak?” Mando asks. “What’s he doing off his planet?”

“Galavanting with his latest wife.” Greef Karga answers, reaching into one of his many pockets to pull out a puck and place it on the table. With a press of his finger, a hologram of Prince Toru starts revolving on the table, a very skinny Grindakian with wolfish features. “His parents want him back home, safe and sound. The wife has a bounty as well but her payment is not handsome as the reward to bring back the prince alive.”

“Last known location?” Mando inquires.

“The amorous planet of Yiven.” Cara answers for Greef Karga. A pause around the bounty hunters. “Can’t quite bring the kid there.” 

“Also, Yiven doesn’t allow singular passengers through customs. It is, afterall, a honeymoon planet.” Greef Karga explains as he turns his palms to face the sky. “That’s why this puck is worth so much. You’ll need a partner, Mando.” 

A longer silence falls over your crew while the rest of the cantina goes along it’s business. Mando’s hand on the table forms a fist, the leather almost squeaking at how tight he’s holding it. His shoulders are tense, you see the way they’ve risen and you want to reach out to remind him it’ll be okay. You hate seeing him like this because a partner isn’t exactly feasible right now, not with how quick they need to get this job done. Not to mention, it’s a two-for-one deal; the prince and his wife both have bounties on them. 

But then an idea pops into your head.

“I can be your partner.” You offer casually, bringing the spotchka to your lips. Slowly, all eyes turn to you, even Mando. Greef Karga is looking at you with surprise, Cara a smirk and Mando, well, you can’t tell with Mando but at least his fist has relaxed.

“I don’t think you understand what kind of partner Greef Karga means.” Mando starts. 

“Of course, I do, Mando. I’m not a child.” You say with a laugh. “It’s only pretend, don’t worry. I’m not going to  _ make _ you marry me.” 

Mando pauses, visor still facing you. He contemplates for a moment, your suggestion, and you’re scared he may outright reject you. His silence hurts slightly. You’re not useless in a fight and you’re not hideous. Is it really that repulsive of an idea? Pretending to be your husband?

“It’s settled then!” Greef Karga announces, making you jolt in the silence. He pushes the puck towards Mando and only then does the bounty hunter take his eyes off you. “You two will go to Yiven for Prince Toru and his wife Kiza, and we’ll take care of the little one here on Navarro while you’re off.”

“You’ll take care of the kid.” Cara corrects with a scoff. “ _ I’m _ not a babysitting service.” 

  
  


The short ride to Yiven is noiseless. Mando is quieter than usual, which is saying something because he’s already so introverted and without the kid, the silence is deafening. You busy yourself in the fresher instead of trying to converse with him, scrubbing at your face and skin until they’re pristine and smooth. Cara had brought you to a clothing shop before you left Navarro, one of the nicer ones in town so you could use your own credits and buy more honeymoon-appropriate clothing. Up until now, you’ve only been dressed in your pajamas, mechanic uniform or Mando’s things which are often oversized on you. 

You had chosen a nice dress and adornments for your hair, which you also trimmed a bit on your own while in the fresher. You darken your lashes and brows, swipe on the slightest bit of rouge and opt for a clear lacquer lip, flavored with all natural Jogan fruit juice or so the packaging states. For some reason, nervousness thrums through you although  _ you _ were the one that suggested the ploy. All you had to do was play a Mandalorian’s wife for, what, a day? Perhaps two? It’ll get Mando through customs and onto the planet, where he can then find his quarry and bring the two of you back to your child.

Another reason why this trip feels so tense. You haven’t been without the little one in months and his presence is what has kept you sane. Without him beside you, you feel that emptiness of before that you felt on your home planet. It was as if a part of your mind, so alive and active before, has gone dead. So strange.

“(Y/N)?” 

“One second, Mando!” You reply, fidgeting with your hair piece one last time. 

When it finally lays where you want it, you open the door to the fresher and step out, finding Mando standing a few feet away, waiting. He turns his head towards you and you visibly see him take a step back out of shock. 

It’s a little funny actually because you  _ do _ look quite different than how you usually do. You’ve chosen a dark green ensemble made with a shimmering, transparent material. The skirt is long but split so you can easily access the blaster strapped to your right thigh. The bell sleeves fall off your shoulders, the length longer than your arms and nearly brushing the floor. A sturdy black corset is cinched around your waist, hiding two of your favorite vibroblades in it’s confines and you leave Mando’s gift tied around your throat, the one thing you haven’t changed about yourself. 

“ _ Cyare _ , you look….” His words trail off, breathless and bewildered. The indication of what he means makes you blush from chest up and you hope it’s not too noticeable under your makeup.

“Think the folks on Yiven will buy this?” You ask him jocularly, hoping to lighten the sudden intensity in the ship. You hold out your arms and spin, showing him your whole figure and instead of him merely nodding like you expect him to, he speaks. 

“ _ Mesh’la, _ anyone would.” is his answer, one that makes your heart do that thing in your chest that takes your ability to think away. 

“Thank you, Mando.” You say smiling at him. “That’s sweet of you.” 

“We’re--we’re almost there. I wanted to go through the plan with you.” He states. “Are you...able to come up to the cockpit in those clothes?” You laugh and nod.

“It’s merely a dress, Mando.” You say to him and adorably, he just shrugs. How would he know, you suppose, being a man. 

Up in the cockpit, you strap yourself in behind him in your usual chair. You watch him flip a few switches to make sure the ship lands automatically once entering the atmosphere if Yiven, and then he turns back to you.

“Once we land and get through customs, we’re going to head to the last club Prince Toru was seen at.” Mando starts. “I’d prefer to find a room for you to lay low in, but I can’t get into any event without a partner.” 

“That’s fine, I can take care of myself in a fight.” You tell him.

“I’m not worried about danger. I’m worried about…” He pauses. “The occupants of this planet--they come here for one thing.” 

“I understand what kind of planet Yiven is, Mando.” You remind him. 

There are plenty of seedy planets like Yiven in the galaxy. It’s only popular because of its natural botanics, flowers that emanate pollen that are basically amourous agents once skin is touched by it. The natives of Yiven took advantage of their flora and started advertising to the rest of the galaxy as a paradise for lovers. While it started off innocent, it slowly twisted itself into a planet known for swinging married couples and nymphomaniacs. 

“I don’t want you to be uncomfortable by anything I do to get us into their borders, to keep our appearances up.” Ah, that explains why he’s been so strained these past few hours. You reach forward for him and take his hand in yours, happy with how he allows you to do it. 

“Mando, you do  _ anything _ you need to do in order to get this job done.”

You’re not ready for how his grip tightens around your hand at the words. The innuendo behind it is not unseen and it’s the boldest you’ve been since entering his ship but this is more than just any of his other jobs. This was the job to take him home, to the Tribe, which you know he has woefully missed. How could you deny him it? How could you make it anymore difficult?

“Are you sure,  _ riduur _ ?” He asks you. Another pet name, one that feels heavier than all the others. You like the way it sounds on his tongue, rich and decadent. You hope he uses that one more often. 

“Of course.” You tell him. There are no words from him after that, only his grip in yours. He only turns away when the port pings for him and he has to answer in order for the ship to land. 

“We’re newlywed and our honeymoon will be for the next three days.” Mando reminds you just before he opens the hatch, facing you directly. “Don’t tell anyone your last name, don’t eat or drink anything we didn’t bring and _ no one _ touches you but me. Do you understand?” 

The last bit is a bit unexpected and it stirs something hot in your stomach but you nod obediently. Mando reaches down and takes your hand in his before bringing you down the ramp to be greeted by nearly half a dozen identical women dressed in light pink robes. With silvery hair down to their hips and pale lilac skin, it’s quite a vision and they all bow at the waist when you two touch feet to the ground. With a quick glance around, you realize that Yiven is quite gorgeous. The tropical climate is nicer than the dry air of Navarro, and you see green everywhere you look. 

You smile at the group and they smile back at you, all of them eerily the same. They continue to split off into two groups, one moving to the right and the other moving to the left as someone walks up the middle. This Yivenian is dressed different from the other women, though her skin and hair are the same. Her gown is more intricate and you can tell she holds more powers.   
“Welcome, lovers, to Yiven. I am Hennia, head of customs here on our planet.” She says when she reaches the both of you, voice lithe and sweet. “I trust you are both here to enjoy the Solstice Festival?”

“Yes.” Mando answers. “We’ll need accommodations for three days.” 

“Do you have your paperwork?” Mando reaches into his pocket, pulling out multiple cards before handing them over to the woman. They were supplied by Greef Karga and seem to be authentic as Hennia’s scanner flashes green. 

“Wonderful, now there  _ is  _ one last step before you can enjoy our planet’s festivities.” Hennia mentions.

“What is it?” You ask. Identification and tickets you remember Greef Karga mentioning, a marriage license somewhere in the mix but not this.

“I must see that you two are truly in love. A kiss will cement your admission.” She smiles kindly but panic floods through you like ice water through your veins. You immediately shake your head, forehead pinching together in dissatisfaction. 

“Do you not know who my husband is?” You ask her with fake haughtiness. “He is a Mandalorian, the best hunter in this  _ parsec _ . How dare you ask him to break his Creed for admission to your planet? Who in Maker’s name do you think you--” 

“ _ Riduur _ , it’s alright.” Mando removes his hand from yours to place it between your shoulder blades. His words cut off your rant and you look at him in true astonishment. 

“Mando, no.” You say, shaking your head fervently. Is he really going to take his helmet, break his Creed and oath all for some lousy bounty? Absolutely not, you won’t allow it.

“I apologize for my wife.” Mando says, turning back to Hennia. “She’s quite adamant on protecting me, that’s why I love her.” The words make you flinch, too raw and pathetically pleasing to your ears. 

“Oh, that is quite alright. It is a wonderful thing to see, actually.” Hennia says, placing a hand over her heart or at least you think where her heart would be.

“We can go somewhere else, Mando.” You say hurriedly. “I would honeymoon on Tatooine with you!” He chuckles lowly, removing his hand from your back to casually swipe his thumb across your cheek as if he’s done it a million times before. Your breath hitches as he cups your face, the warmth of his body sinking into your pores. 

“It’s just a kiss,  _ ner kar’ta _ .” Mando murmurs, stepping close to you. It jars you, never having been this close to him before. The air around him buzzes and the whole universe condenses into the space you encompass with him, nothing else existing. 

You hear him drop your bag that he has in his other hand and you want to fight him, truly, but it’ll look suspicious if you do. Mando’s grip changes, falling to take your chin between his fingers to tilt your face up to him. In your peripheral vision, you see his thumb from his other hand hook underneath his helmet, a slow hiss signaling to you that he’s about to lift it. Out of instinct, you shut your eyes, trying to relax your face as best as you can to sell the scene to Hennia. 

His kiss is softer than you expect, and facial hair tickles your upper lip in an unfamiliar way. He’s warm,  _ human _ and you knew this before, of course, but with his mouth pressed to yours it truly clicks into place. He’s real and he’s got lips that feel like clouds, lips that are melded to yours in a kiss that is so simple but so life-altering all the same. You can’t help but kiss him back and press yourself into him, a hand coming up to rest in his cuirass. 

Suddenly, you feel the cold beskar of his helmet touch the tip of your nose. Solace washes through you when you realize he must have just lifted the helmet up past his lips, not all the way off and you hope it’s an acceptable loophole for his Creed.

Mando leaves the kiss at that, just one and before you can open your eyes to look at him, his helmet hisses as it falls back to where it was before. You must be a sight for him, lips parted and slack jawed. You never thought in a million years he’d do that and your body is taking a moment to function at the shock of it. 

“Beautiful!” Hennia comments, clapping her hands together and snapping you back to the mission. “Mr. and Mrs. Mandalorian, your accommodations are this way.”

You wonder if he can taste your Jogan gloss on his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What can I say, I love writing tropes.


	8. eight

Din kissed (Y/N). He  _ kissed _ her. It was not part of the plan. He didn’t realize a kiss would be a part of the admissions process, Greef Karga didn’t  _ tell _ him that. But then it was and they were already on the planet. What kind of married couple couldn’t even kiss? He had to or their cover would have been blown and there would have gone two day, two bounties and a sizable amount of credits purely wasted. 

But she kissed him back. 

(Y/N) kissed him back and pressed her body to his, seam to seam as if she couldn’t get any closer if their atoms touched. He hasn’t kissed anyone since before he swore the Creed, any couplings done with his helmet on, never off. He didn’t realize how much he missed it, the intimacy of a single kiss and (Y/N) has opened a dam inside of him that now drowns him in desire.  _ Anything you need to do _ , that is what she said but Din fights a battle inside of him.

When he kisses (Y/N), Din wants to know she’s kissing him back because she wants to, not because they are on a mission. When he holds her, he wants her to hold him back with affection. He’s not blind nor oblivious, he can tell his mechanic harbors feelings for him but to what extent? The way he feels for her? Din isn’t sure. He doesn’t know. They should talk about it, he knows but there is never a seemingly good time. 

He watches her now, eyes wide as she looks out the window of their suite. She’s beautiful, even more than usual and Din wishes he could give her this life. One where she can wear all the sparkling gowns she wants, and he can take her on trips to all the exciting planets in the galaxy. Would she be happy for the rest of her life with a bounty hunter? The only thing he can give her being the man he is now is blood and dirt, bodies at her feet and blaster soot on her hands. 

“It’s so gorgeous here.” (Y/N) comments, letting the curtain fall back to place as she turns to face him. Din nods in response, placing their bag on the singular bed that they’re meant to share. When she turns to him, the guilt floods his senses and words start tumbling from his mouth.

“About that kiss--I’m sorry I did that without your permission.” Din apologizes. “I didn’t know, Greef Karga didn’t tell me.” The mention of it has her blushing red again, so pretty and saccharine. She pauses, hands wringing the sleeves of her gown. Din can practically see the thoughts churn in her head, eyes flitting back and forth. 

“You never have to apologize for kissing me, Mando.” (Y/N) confesses, walking closer to him. The sun behind her lights her up, forming a halo behind her head and he’s never seen anyone so ethereal. 

“Is that so?” He asks her, helmet tilting in question. She gets redder if possible and Din wonders where this shy girl comes from, much more used to the (Y/N) that teases him mercilessly.

“I mean, it’s--it’s obvious, isn’t it?” She stammers out, lashes blinking fast in nervousness. He doesn’t answer, the words taking his breath away as they confirm something that has been unspoken between them since they’ve met. Unfortunately, she takes this as a rejection, evading his eyes as she takes a seat down on the bed. 

“Or not.” (Y/N) mutters, biting her bottom lip between her teeth. “Which is fine! I’m not--I’m not looking for anything and--”

“(Y/N).” Din breathes. His voice is surprising even to him, barely audible and strained. He wills his feet to move, makes his body take a seat next to her. Doe eyes focus on him, always on him, as he tilts his head towards her. Din’s head falls, the crest of his helmet meeting her forehead gently in a  _ Keldabe  _ kiss. She keeps her head tilted up, eyes fluttering shut, head pressed to his helmet as if it’s his own skin and it makes his heart burn with affection.

Another action that holds a mountain of weight for him but none for her, not in the way Din wants it to. There is no familiar ring of beskar meeting beskar, no adrenaline rushing through his veins from battle but Din somehow feels the intensity of the kiss throughout his whole body. 

“It’s obvious,  _ riduur _ .” Din manages to say, his helmet still pressed to her head. “For me as well.” He allows it for only a moment longer, his urge to see her far stronger and he sits back. The glint of beskar at the hollow of her throat makes him feel that possessiveness again, that urge to keep her protected from the roughness of the galaxy. 

“Thank the Maker.” (Y/N) says with a small laugh. “I thought...I was scared that I was the only one.” 

“No, I’ve--” Din swallows, reaching for her hand, for something to touch. Easily she wraps her hands around his, one beneath and one on top. “I’ve felt this way for a long time.” Her jaw drops slightly out of surprise, brows rising to her hairline.

“How long?” She whispers. 

“Since we’ve met.” Din divulges. (Y/N) smiles at his answer, cheeks still pink and her thighs press hotter to his. He clears his throat and leans back, knowing his self-restraint is already pathetically weak. If she keeps looking at him like that, he doesn’t know what he’ll do. 

“We can talk about it more later on.” Din murmurs, not really meaning a word he says. “But now, let’s focus on the mission.”

“Right, of course. Is the club nearby?” She asks. Din nods, standing up and holding a hand out for her.

“He should be there right about now if Greef Karga’s sources are accurate.” 

He hopes they are. It is a quick ride to the establishment, taxi’s all around to be used for free in the main city. The club is not as sleazy as Din was assuming it to be, classy even with a rose gold theme, complete with bubbles coming from machines in the ground and sparkling chandeliers of varying lengths hanging from the ceiling. The light is low inside, different from the brightness of Yiven early afternoon and it casts a romantic mood onto its occupants. 

“Will you two be swinging tonight?” The host asks at the entrance, a perky young man with filed down horns on his head.

“Uh, are we?” (Y/N) asks him in a confused tone, turning to him. Greef Karga informed him of how to answer this at least.

“Yes.” Din answers. He leans in close and adds, “It’s my wife’s first time.” 

“Oh, dear, you’re going  _ so _ much fun!” The young man giggles before reaching forward for (Y/N)’s hand. She turns her head to him, eyes waiting for his permission before Din nods. The host slips a silver bangle around her wrist, and Din notes that some other women and men in the bar were wearing jewelry of similar style. 

Din thanks the host and moves them along, searching for somewhere to sit that’s not too close to the crowd of dancers on the floor. Some people were sitting at tables and dining, others at the bar and drinking. There were three pods towards the back of the building, large enough to fit maybe two couples and from the sounds coming from them, Din knows exactly what they’re used for. 

“Snazzy place.” (Y/N) comments, sliding onto a stool at the bar. Din stands close to her, his front to the exit as he always does. He hums in agreement, eyes scanning the club. No one even blinks at him which is a new and pleasant experience. He supposes he doesn’t stick out here like he does other places, not when everyone is inebriated and love-drunk. 

“Stay here for me,  _ cyar'ika _ .” Din orders. She looks up and nods at him.

“Be safe.” She says softly. Din leans down and taps his forehead against hers as a response, earning himself a giggle. He slips away, steps quiet as his helmet scans the lifeforms in the room. It’s as if every single race makes up the drove of beings at this club. His scans zip through at least three dozen different life forms before he reaches up and switches the feature off. He’s only looking for one life form right now, a Grindakian. 

A half-hour goes by before he’s finished analyzing the room. The only life forms he can’t get a read on are the ones in the floating pods near the back and he isn’t keen on breaking in them to see what’s going on. He was hoping the act of bringing in Prince Toru wouldn't include any blaster fire and while the prince doesn’t have any royal defense currently, it doesn’t mean he doesn't have any hired goons. 

(Y/N) isn’t alone when he makes his way back to her. She’s got a flute of something sparkly in her hand and from the figure, a woman standing in front of her. Din can’t tell who it is but his  _ riduur’s _ eyes are sparkling when they meet his own across the room.

“Oh, here he is!” (Y/N) exclaims, hand reaching out for him when he comes close enough. Din complies and allows himself to be pulled close to the two women. Din plays his part dutifully, wrapping an arm around (Y/N)’s waist as she places her palm on his pauldron. 

“ _ Cyare _ , did you make a friend?” Din asks her casually, turning his helmet to the woman. Her face is familiar and it only takes a moment for it to register. It’s Prince Toru’s wife, Kiza, standing in front of (Y/N). She’s as pretty as her hologram, sparkling gold skin and wrist adorned with the same bracelet his partner has on. She’s standing very close to (Y/N), enough for their gowns to brush. Din doesn’t miss the body language, the woman is here to flirt. 

“Yes, this is Kiza. She saw I was a little lonely and bought me a drink.” (Y/N) says, holding up her glass. 

“Shame on you, Mandalorian.” Kiza says playfully shoving his shoulder. “How could you leave your pretty little wife unattended?”

“You’re unattended as well, Kiza.” Din points out.

“Well, when I saw a Mandalorian’s wife down here I just had to come say hi.” Kiza reasons.

“How did you know I’m a Mandalorian’s wife?” (Y/N) wonders aloud. Kiza nearly purrs at the question, leaning forward even closer to his  _ riduur.  _

“The beskar around your neck, darling.” Kiza answers, voice barely above a whisper. “Who else but a Mandalorian could have access to such a pretty little thing?” Kiza’s eyes fall south, eyes starving as she drinks in the sight of Din’s  _ dinui _ . 

“Where’s your husband?” Din asks flatly, breaking the rapport between the woman. He barely holds back a jump when (Y/N) pinches him on the back of his arm. 

“Kiza’s husband rented out one of the private pods.” (Y/N) says, trying to keep her tone light as she pointedly looks at him. “She said he’d  _ love _ to play with us.”

“Yes, we’ve never….been with a Mandalorian before.” Kiza smiles lavisciously and Din gulps underneath his layers. 

“Lead the way.” He says, trying to hold down the squeamish sensation in his stomach. No way in hell is he going to participate in any foreplay with the bounties but at least this way, he can get them alone. 

They make their way slowly through the throng of people, Din standing a little taller than he usually would to keep hands off of (Y/N). She looks over her right shoulder, sending him the most gorgeous smile he’s seen in so long, and briefly, he allows himself the fantasy of truly being on a honeymoon with her. It wouldn’t be in such a flashy place like Yiven, no. Somewhere quieter with privacy and many moons, somewhere it can just be then.

Before he knows it, they’re on the second floor and at playrooms. Din watches as Kiza opens the middle pod with her thumb, a tidbit of information he tucks away lest it’s needed later one. He steps inside first after Kiza, holding (Y/N)’s hand behind him. From the outside, the pods are an opaque white but from the inside, it seems to be made of glass. Din can see right through the walls and realizes this must be how their bounty couple found him and (Y/N).

“You found a Mandalorian, Kiza.” 

The sultry voice belongs to who they’re looking for, Prince Toru. He’s sitting on a lavish couch, hovering off the thickly carpeted floors. Still in his royal robes, jewel-encrusted crown set atop his hair, the Prince hasn’t tried to hide his identity in any way. His grin puts rows of sharp teeth on display. Kiza giggles and settles herself across her husband's lap, kissing him slowly. 

“I did, and his gorgeous wife.” Kiza holds her hand out as (Y/N) steps in after Din, a vision as always. Din doesn’t like the way the Prince’s eyes rake up and down (Y/N)’s body, nearly shooting him with a blaster right then and there at the sight of it. 

“Why don’t you two have a seat?” Prince Toru gestures at the loveseat on the other side of the small pod. Din does so, slowly with (Y/N) by his side and finds that the pod is so small he could probably reach out and choke Toru if he wanted. 

“So, tell us the story!” Kiza chirps. “How did you two meet?” 

“Oh, you tell us first!” (Y/N) pushes, sending the pair a sickly smile. It’s strange to see what a good actor his partner is but it just makes up for his inability to care for something he frankly couldn’t give a kriff about. 

“Well, Toru and I met on his home planet. He’s a prince.” Kiza giggles, snuggling into her husband's side as (Y/N) coos. The pair start kissing again and Din grimaces freely under his helmet. He can’t take any more of this. 

“I didn’t know we were in the presence of royalty.” (Y/N) schmoozes. “You hear that, honey? A prince and princess.” 

“Great.” Din says with no real enthusiasm. 

Acts over, it’s time to cuff them and bring ‘em in. 

He reaches into his waistband and pulls out pucks and tosses it out onto the ground in front of them. At the same time, Din unholsters his blaster to make sure the pair know how this is gonna go. It never ceases to please him, the face of a bounty when they realize they’ve been had. 

Kiza jolts up from Toru’s lap, hands reaching underneath their seat in search of something. Din stands up just as Toru tries to make a run for the door, grabbing the Grindakian by the back of his clothes to yank him back and throw him onto the seat. Kiza finds what she’s looking for, a blaster that they must have strapped there but before Din can do something about it he sees (Y/N) whip her own blaster out from her thigh holster. His ally kicks the blaster out of the princesses grip and digs her heeled foot into Kiza’s shoulder, effectively kicking her down and pinning her to the ground all in one go. 

“The Prince is needed alive but  _ you _ , we can bring in cold, honey.” (Y/N) says, blaster a foot away from the snivelling girl's face. Din always knew that his beloved could hold her own, no doubt about it but to  _ see  _ it is another thing entirely. Pride flares up in his stomach, the Mandalorian that makes up his whole being screaming with delight in his choice of a mate. 

The fire in Din’s stomach roars and when he throws the royal duo into carbonite, the bright grin he’s got underneath his helmet could give all the stars in the galaxy a run for their credits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear there's a plot, I SWEAR, somewhere ? maybe? but I just wanna write fluff all the time lmaooo 
> 
> hope y'all liked this chapter <3


	9. nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fic is finished! Thirteen chapters and this story comes to a close. I will be posting about 2x a week now. Thank you so much everyone for reading <3

The ship tends to be a quiet environment. With the quarries frozen in carbonite and the kid not quite knowing how to talk yet, Din has become comfortable with the silence of space. With the stars flying by, he could meditate, reflect, focus on cleaning his weapons and restocking. His whole life has been like this. Training, fighting, hunting, he does it all without excessive noise. 

So what is that sound coming from beneath the cockpit? 

It’s a tune of some sort, lilting and melodic.  _ Music _ , Din concludes shortly. It’s been years since he’s heard music, a luxury that the Outer Rim tends to forgo. Where could it be coming from? Din gets up from his seat, briefly glancing at his armor that piles on one of the copilot chairs. He’s just come out of the fresher an hour ago and hadn’t felt like it was needed to gear up as they’re still days away from their destination. He keeps his helmet on of course, just in case anyone wanders up to the cockpit but other than that, he’s only dressed in a dark pair of trousers, black tunic and his boots. For a moment, he debates on whether or not to put on the beskar. 

(Y/N) has seen him once or twice without it, and it’s just the kid down there with her. Not to mention, she’s a part of his clan now and he’s realized he’s in love with her in a very romantic hologram show sort of way. Now that he’s admitted it to himself, every time he looks at her he’s reminded of his feelings as they always hit him like a tidal wave. Every single one of her touches, no matter how innocent or how many layers he’s got on, it lights him on fire. 

Din decides to go without, checking the controls and making sure they’re on autopilot before he climbs down the ladder. The music gets louder, more prominent as it mingles with the sound of what he knows now as (Y/N)’s voice. Once he’s on both feet again, he’s met with his  _ a’dika  _ and his beloved swaying gently to a rhythmic tune. She missed the child so much during the mission, they’ve been inseparable since coming back from Navarro. 

“Hey Mando.” (Y/N) greets with a smile, continuing her movements. 

“ _ Cyar'ika. _ ” Mando returns, the pet name common now. In the small space, he reaches out and rubs the little one’s ear between his fingers as hello, earning himself a happy coo. After, he busies himself with grabbing a weapon, putting on an act of taking it apart and cleaning it at the small table (Y/N) that has been soldered onto the floor. It’ll be nice to spend a bit of time with them before the intensity of the Tribe swamps them. 

“This is my favorite song, little bean.” She says softly to the child. He answers with incoherent syllables but (Y/N) goes on. “I used to put this on when the children at the orphanage couldn’t sleep. Do you like dancing, baby?” 

“He’s barely able to walk.” Mando scoffs. 

“Well when’s the last time  _ you _ danced, Mando?” She asks him with a laugh. He pauses to think about it before answering.

“Never.” 

It’s as if he just told her he slaughtered a whole town in cold blood, the way her jaw drops and eyes enlarge. 

“You hear that, little one?” (Y/N) asks the kid, placing him into his floating pod nearby. “I’ve got to teach your  _ buir _ how to dance!”

“Oh--uh, that’s not necessary--” Din barely finishes his sentence before a hand has clasped itself onto his wrist to pull him away from his weapons. 

It happens in a blink of an eye. He never realized how bare he really is without his armour and his cape until now, with (Y/N) a breath away from him and pressing her whole body in a way to align with his. With all his fighting expertise, Din is unable to stop (Y/N) from moving his own body with her hands, placing his hands around her waist as her fingers slither up his arm to wrap around the back of his neck. He tenses up without meaning to as her fingertips land on skin, bare without the cape usually coiled around it. 

“You’re so stiff. Just relax.” (Y/N) murmurs softly, tilting her head up to his. Her eyes meet his own and up this close, he can see every pore and hyperpigmentation of her skin. He makes note of the baby hairs around her temple and the little scar just beneath her chin that he wants to press his lips to.

She’s so kriffing close to him, closer than ever before even on their small ship. In this proximity, even with his helmet tinting her face in a different color, registering her race, age and species, Din once again notices how beautiful she is. Wispy lashes, the curve of her lips, the cut of her cheekbones, it all makes his chest ache with a want that he’s all too familiar with by now. She’s soft under his hands, warm against his body, so different from the beskar that he lives in. 

His mind flashes back to her stint in the water, wet skin and light bouncing off her curves. His body remembers what it felt like to kiss her, just that one time on Yiven and all their touches on that trip. The urge to know her in a carnal way makes his face flush so quickly he almost gets dizzy and he’s grateful for his helmet for hiding his lewd thoughts. (Y/N)’s laughing again and it brings him back to the present where she’s sharing a giggle with his foundling.

“You’d think I was asking him to strip and pole dance for me.” (Y/N) jokes, causing the little one to gurgle. He’s lying back in his pod, feet kicking and moments away from sleep as far as Din can tell by the droop of his lids. 

“That’s not appropriate to say to the kid.” Din chastises before he can stop himself. She rolls her eyes, still swaying in time with the music.

“Mando, he’s fifty, almost twice our age.” 

“Twice our age? How old do you think I am?” He’s in his mid-thirties now, and looking at (Y/N) as she chuckles again hits him with how young she really must be. What does she think he looks like? Much younger than he truly is, apparently. 

“How am I supposed to know? I’ve never seen your face.” She reminds him, fingertips tracing patterns on the skin she’s got access to. 

“I’ve seen 36 cycles.” Din tells her. She divulges her own age, authenticating his own thoughts about how young she must be. He’s practically robbing the cradle which, well, he’s actually done once with the child. 

A minute that feels like an hour passes, and in this time Din wills his body to unwind. It’s not a particularly hard task with his arms around a sweet woman and her head placed on his chest. He wonders if (Y/N) can hear the thundering of his heart and if she can, he’s glad she isn’t saying anything about it. He doesn’t know how to approach this, doesn’t know how to digest these new bubbling emotions in his stomach that keep him up at night. 

Din Djarin has never been in love. Lust, attraction, fascination--sure but love is a whole different universe for him. When Mandalorians were plentiful, the courtship was easy. Aid your intended in battle, a gift of beskar, a spoken oath to cement a  _ riduurok, _ and a whole lifetime to spend together. But as of late, a child born of the Tribe has not been seen in a while and foundlings much more common. 

His upbringing taught him how to fight, but Din has never been taught how to love. 

“You’re thinking too much, Mandalorian.” (Y/N) states, jolting Din back to the present. 

“I’m not.” He refutes without much conviction, bringing forth a small laugh from the woman in his arms.

“Yes, you are. I can literally feel you tensing up.” She argues, lifting her head from his chest to look up. Clear, sure eyes look right at him and a fear that she can see right through his helmet makes him tremble, though that chance is highly unlikely. 

Din takes in a shaky breath, letting it out as quietly as he can in hopes the modulator won’t pick it up and play it out for (Y/N) to hear. Her hands fall from his neck to his shoulders, fingers squeezing at the taut muscles there and he turns into putty. 

Din just wants to enjoy this closeness for now, this intimacy that he hasn’t had in years and shuts his eyes. He lifts a hand from her waist, reaching up to her face slowly enough for her to know what he’s doing. The back of his fingers brush against her cheek, the finest of touches but (Y/N) leans into him and he feels the sharp intake of breath through the rise of her chest that’s pressed against his. Her skin is so soft and Din spreads his touch to cup her face, thumb stroking her cheekbone. 

Regardless of what he does, her eyes stay shut and the singular action, or lack thereof, cements the trust he already has in her. He watches her reactions to his touch without a word, the music still playing as they dance. Her face is beautiful as always but right now, it’s devoid of that blindingly bright smile that Din is so used to. Instead, there’s serenity in her features and Din finds that both expressions are equally heavenly. 

“Mando.” (Y/N) whispers a moment later. The way her mouth forms his moniker makes him want to kiss her but even more so, he wishes she could say his true name.

“Hm?” He lets his hand drop, returning to its previous position at her hip. Eyes open as she leans her whole body into his, arms returning to their previous position around his neck and they’re closer than before. 

“You’re a very good dancer.” Din can’t suppress the laugh that falls out of him, his whole body shaking with it and (Y/N) grins at his reaction. 

“Beginner’s luck.” Din halfheartedly explains. She opens her pretty mouth, about to say something in response when the front of the ship shakes and a thunderous sound booms along with it. Mando’s hand flies to his blaster, instincts readying him for a fight. 

“Maker, what was that?” (Y/N) asks, head whipping towards the sound. She removes herself from his arms, walking towards it. The sound even makes the child rise from his sleep which is a very hard thing to do as he tends to sleep like the dead.

Din walks over to the pod, shushing the little one and patting the blankets that cover him. The child’s eyes are still groggy and Din shuts the pod again, hoping he’ll return to his nap. When he finally makes his way to the front of the ship where the sounds emanated from, he finds (Y/N) halfway into a wall of his ship, a flashlight in her teeth as she surveys the damage. 

“What is it?” Din asks from behind her. 

“I think it’s the vacuum shiphead or the repulsor liftoffs! It’s hard to tell without my real tools.” She answers, voice echoing off the durasteel. “Can you hand me my datapad?”

Din looks around briefly, spotting the pad on the ground nearby. He hands it to her and waits as patiently as he can while she runs a few diagnostics. He hears her curse when the pad beeps, signaling its completion and he knows that can’t be a good sign. (Y/N) shimmies out of the hatch to the wall, dusting herself off as she stands. She’s gnawing at her lip and the look she gives is one is full of guilt, though he knows this is not her fault.

“We’re gonna have to land somewhere with a hanger.” (Y/N) states. “I can’t make any repairs with the tools I have on board.”

“ _ Osik _ .” Din swears. This means they’ll have to make another pit stop before they can land on the Tribe’s planet. Not exactly what he wants, but if he wants the Crest to keep flying he has to do as (Y/N) says. He lets out a huff of frustration, shaking his head as he walks away. A hand stops him in his tracks, holding him back by the crook of his elbow. 

“Hey, it’s a quick fix once we land somewhere.” (Y/N) reassures him, hand slipping down to wrap her fingers in his. With just that touch, he feels the nervousness and anxiety from before lessen considerably. She leans forward, pressing a kiss to the cheek of his helmet and Din turns to press his forehead to hers. 

He allows his eyes to shut, allows himself to breathe and peace trickles through him. With (Y/N) by his side, he knows there’s nothing he can’t face. 


	10. ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No TRUE smut, but definitely 18+ so no kids!!

“We’re landing.” 

You look up from the datapad on your lap to watch Mando expertly land his ancient remnant of a ship down on a snowy planet, evening arriving just as he does. He had told you it was the closest thing around with civilization, diverging from your original path by just 6 hours. You gave the heavier of your clothing items to pad the little one’s pod and wrap him up as that was more important, his biology not meant for the cold. You hope the meager supply of clothes you brought with you on the ship will keep you warm in these frigid climates. 

“This hangar is a little small.” You comment, looking out the window of the cockpit. A few humanoid figures wave a red light to show where Mando can park, the snow obstructing the visibility, and some droids coming out of the woodworks as well. 

“Hopefully they’ll have what we need.” Mando says. 

You hum in agreement and undo your seatbelt to go check on the baby down below. He’s perfectly content, claws playing with the beskar mythosaur in his pod and you can’t help but beam. You love the little one like your own child, an easy feat because of how adorable and sweet he is. He’s taken to giving you a little piece of whatever snack he’s eating before he devours it and the small act of generosity shows you he’s growing. 

You feel connected to him in a way that is bizarre, intense but welcome. Sometimes, you swear it’s his voice in your head asking for dinner or a drink. Other times, you swear he can hear your thoughts, crawling up to your lap when you’re feeling particularly lonely. It’s quite lovely, having someone get you the way the child does. He’s very much like his father that way, always knowing what you need before you even know it yourself. 

“Okay, sweetie, gotta stay inside okay?” You say to the child, pinching his cheek lightly out of love. You click the button to shut the pram but don’t put much faith into the action. As much as you wire the pod to only respond to external buttons, somehow it always glitches and the little one will find his way out. You hear Mando’s boots coming down the rungs of the ladder as you pick up your last layer. 

“Will you be warm enough?” Mando asks you as he watches you pull on a measly little jacket you really have only worn a few times on your home planet. Other than that, all you’ve got on is your boots, trousers, thin shirt and one of Mando’s tunics over it for insulation. 

“Doesn’t matter, it’s all I’ve got.” You admit. His head lowers and rises, taking in your figure and what you’re dressed in before disappearing around a corner. 

You brush off the confusion you feel and instead focus on tightening the laces of your boots so snow doesn’t get into the crevices. You used to feel bad for the Mandalorian, having to sport all those layers and all that armor even on hot planets like yours. You suppose it comes in handy on trips like this. You’re working on your other boot when Mando comes back, something like fabric in his hands.

“What’s that?” You ask him.

“For you,  _ cyare _ .” He explains, tender in a way that’s only directed at the child or you. It’s only when he unravels it that you see what it is--one of his capes. Mando drapes it around your shoulders without another word and your nose is met with the smell of blaster powder and metal, a scent that is unique to the Mandalorian you’ve been sharing a living space with for the last half cycle. 

“Oh. Thanks.” is all you can manage, heart thudding in your chest. You’re used to being the one flirting with  _ him,  _ making  _ him  _ flustered. The table seems to have turned in just the past few days and you’re not sure how to manage it. 

Ever since that trip to Yiven, things have started changing between you two. He knows now, how you feel and his heart is in the same place but you don’t know just...how much. For you, it’s everything. Though you don’t even know what he looks like, what he sounds like--he’s it for you for the rest of your life. Every small crush or lingering relationship you’ve ever had before is nothing, a speck of sand in the desert that makes up your adoration for Mando and his son. Is it the same for him? As all-consuming, as soul-changing? 

Mando doesn’t reply or move away, instead standing right in front of you in your personal space, as close as he was on Yiven. His head is tilted down so he can adjust the cape on your shoulders and to tie the straps at your throat. You lift your chin to give him better access, eyes scanning that helmet for a hint of what the depth is of his emotions. 

“There’s a hood, too.” Mando murmurs, reaching behind you and pulling it up past your ears. Heat swamps you now, the inside of the ship too warm for all the layers you’ve got on. Perhaps it’s not the ship but the electricity between the two of you. Every touch, every glance, its meaning multiplied. 

“Where’s your hood?” You ask playfully, trying to relax the feeling you have in your stomach. He doesn’t answer, only reaches up and raps his helmet with his knuckles. You snort and shake your head at his antics. Men are all the same regardless of age, race or religion.

“These too.” You stay silent as Mando pulls more gifts from his pockets, revealing another pair of leather gloves much like his own. They look a little older, more worn and creased at the joints but you’re sure they’re just as warm as his own. He helps you pull them on, one by one and while they’re too large, you feel affection swell up in your heart.

“You’re being too kind.” You tell him, flexing your fingers in the new gloves. 

“No.” Mando denies. “I am merely taking care of my clan.” His clan. The words warm you up from your toes to your ears in a way no cloak or pair of gloves ever can. Things like this, little phrases he says; it makes you want to cling to this life even longer. 

“Should have asked to be in your clan earlier.” You joke with a little smile and while you can’t see his facial expressions, you like to think he’s smiling back.

“Ready?” Mando asks you. You nod and pull the cape a little tighter at your shoulders, bracing yourself for the cold when he presses a button on his vambrace to open up the hatch of a ship. 

Cold air whips through the opening, snow falling heavily from the sky. You both steadily walk down the ramp and you’re grateful for your new clothes, knowing you would have become a popsicle without them in this weather. Looking around, you’re grateful to see it’s mainly fluffy snow, no ice to slip on or wind to walk through. Almost immediately, the flakes pile up on the child’s pod and you’re glad he’s keeping himself tucked away. It’s quite a peaceful scene actually, you could find yourself living on a planet such as this. 

“Ah, there y’all are!” A voice yells as you find your footing in the snow. A man with a very red nose and fur-trimmed jacket greets the three of you, waving his mitt as a hello. He’s got a datapad balancing on the other hand, ready to input info about the ship. 

“Hello.” Mando says. “We’re looking for repairs to be done on my ship.”

“Of course, of course! She looks like she ‘bout ready to fall apart on you.” The man laughs heartily at his own comment. Someone of similar shape and build comes up from around the corner of the ship, waving hello as well.

“Looks like ya got some damage at the front of your ship here, sir.” He informs us, eyes squinting as the snow picks up. “We can definitely get it fixed for you though, won’t take more than a day!” 

“I’m the main mechanic for the Crest, actually.” You input. “We can save you the labor as long as we can rent some of your tools and space in the hangar.”

“Oh, no, no! My brother and I do all the work ourselves!” The man argues, patting his sibling on the shoulder. You see the resemblance, the uncanny resemblance actually and realize they’re twins. 

“Y’all just go get warmed up!” Twin B says, full of hospitality. 

“Uh, actually, I’d really prefer to do the work myself.” You persist, stepping forward. The Crest is practically your child by now. You won’t have some random mechanics having their hands all up in her wiring!

“(Y/N).” Mando says firmly. You turn back to him, agitated.

“What? I know how she works!” You exclaim. 

“You can check her diagnostics when they’re finished.” Mando continues and you swear that is an amused smile you hear in his voice.

“Yes, yes, and if anything is out of place you just let us know.” Twin A reassures you.

“But nothing will be!” Twin B boasts. 

“Thanks.” Mando reaches into his belt and pulls out a bag of credits, tossing it to one of the mechanics who weighs it in his palms and then shoots his brother a thumbs up. You’re still pouting when Mando reaches down to take your hand in his, pulling you away from the now working crew.

“They’re going to kriff up my work, I just know it.” You grumble. Mando chuckles, the sound still beautiful to you after all this time.

“The Crest will be fine. She survived a Jawa stripping.” He reminds you, squeezing your fingers in reassurance. “Come on, our  _ a’dika _ is hungry.”

His usage of  _ our _ sends a pleasant hum through your body and you allow him to lead you by hand towards the town. You’re not sure when  _ mine _ or  _ yours _ became  _ ours _ , but you’re not complaining. You duck into a cantina with no name, happy to see that it’s bustling and warm. You three take a table by the back, as always and Din orders for you and the little one as you get him situated and out of his pod.

“Yes, we are getting you some soup.” You say as the child peers up at you with hungry eyes. He coos, reaching out for your hand and you place it in reach for him to place his palm on your skin. “Yes, something warm to drink as well. No spotchka!”

“How do you do that?” Mando asks you, voice rising at the end of his question.   
“Do what?”

“You always know exactly what he wants.” 

“Well he’s a baby, there’s only a few things they really want.” You laugh at the simplicity of it, but Mando shakes his head.

“No, you’re able to understand him in a way I don’t think I can.” Mando reasons. You glance back at the child who gives you his very best smile. Your face mimics his and you just shrug.

“We’re just...linked.” 

It’s the best way for you to describe it. As long as he is touching you or in touchable distance, you’re able to know exactly what he needs. You stroke the child's cheek, continuing to rub his ear just the way you know he likes. When you turn back to Mando, he’s still got his attention on you instead of perusing the cantina for danger as you’re used to him doing. You’re about to ask him what’s wrong when the child’s happy gurgle interrupts the silence. 

“Food!” A waitress announces, placing two piping hot bowls on the table as well as two steaming mugs. 

All is soon forgotten with dinner arriving and you make sure to ask for a portion to take along with you for Mando. You hate that he can’t eat with the rest of the clan but understand his Creed is more important than anything. A lot of things about his Creed don’t make sense to you but it doesn’t have to. The only thing you have to do is respect it and allow Mando to do whatever he needs to do. 

A yawn takes over you just as the sun on this planet finishes setting. With a full stomach and finally being on land after so long, tiredness creeps up on you. There’s something so taxing about hyperdrive. You feel Mando’s hand land on your back, head turning to you.

“Tired?” He asks. You nod. It’s been a long trip so far and the child needs more attention with how antsy he gets with days in the ship. Mando stands up and walks towards the bar, pulling credits from one of his many pockets to pay for dinner. You pick up the child, brushing away the last of the breadcrumbs from his robe before Mando comes back. His body language tells you he’s nervous, hand gripping at the belt slung across his chest and the other holding onto one a code cylinder for your lodgings. 

“They have one room available,” Mando says. “Says a storm is coming, so everything else has been occupied.” 

“That’s okay, I could sleep on the floor at this point.” You joke. Mando doesn’t laugh though, only placing his hand on your back as before and leading you away from the table. With the child in your arms and Mando beside you, a sense of safety blankets over your little family. 

“Room is up here.” He says, bringing you up a set of stairs. The hall on the second floor splits off three ways and Mando takes you down the middle one, stopping at the farthest door at the end of the corridor. 

“Ready for bed, womp rat?” You ask the little one, running the tip of your finger over the bridge of his nose in a way you know will make him laugh. He babbles, but you feel his tiredness like your own enough to know he’ll pass out the moment you put him down. 

The room isn’t too small but not grand in any means you find after following Mando inside. One door to the fresher is on the left wall, a medium sized bed placed on the back wall and a set of chairs along a table that’s pressed right side. No windows, which is good because you know Mando is always more relaxed in a room with no more than one entry. The light is bright and fluorescent, highlighting the shine of the floors. It’s cold though, colder than it was downstairs in the cantina and you feel a shiver run its way through your body.

“It’s kinda chilly.” You comment, walking on in. You swear you see your breath puff out in front of you but when you breathe out, nothing there.

“Is it? I’ll go talk to the owner.” Mando is about to leave the room again but you shake your head, placing the child into his pod. 

“They won’t be able to give us another room, there’s no use.” You point out. “It’s alright, we’ll be fine.” 

“Are you sure?” He sounds so apologetic as if the temperature on this frigid planet is his fault.

“Of course, Mando.” You say to him. “It’s no problem, we’ll just have to cuddle.” He stops short and you could laugh but you aren’t trying to tease him. Not too much, at least. 

He doesn’t respond to that, nodding instead before going to take off the sniper strapped to his back. The little one doesn’t move from his spot in the pod, eyes droopy and already half asleep. You leave him there with the contraption open, escaping into the fresher with your bag to brush your teeth, comb out your hair and change into sleeping clothes. It’s different from what you usually sleep in; you’d be ludicrous to bring your shorts and tank top onto a planet such as this. Instead, you slip on a pair of black sleeping pants and one of Mando’s old tunics. 

Leaving the fresher, you find your Mandalorian already sitting on the bed, stripped of most of his armour and empty food containers on the table. He’s got a gloveless hand on the child, rubbing his ear as the little one snores. It’s a sweet sight, you’ll never get over how much Mando loves the child. You know the pram will stay on that side all night, close enough for Mando to rock if the little one fusses. 

“Knew he was tired.” You say with a smile, padding over to the bed. You move your hair out of the way as you go to grab your cape to drape across the bed as an additional layer. It’s much longer than you’re used to and a brief thought of chopping it off passes through your head. 

“Fell asleep in seconds.” 

You giggle at that, slinking under the thin blankets that were provided. It’s cold still but you hope sleep will pull you under soon and you won’t feel it anymore. Mando stands up and walks to the door, switching off the lights and dropping the three of you into pitch black darkness. 

Your eyes fall closed, listening to the sound of Mando’s boots walk back over to the bed. A whole minute passes but you don’t hear him get into the bed or even take off his shoes. Instead, you hear the scrape of a chair and the  _ oomph _ that comes from him sitting in it. Confused, you prop yourself up on your elbows, eyes opening and adjusting to the darkness. You see nothing, of course, it’s far too dark. 

“You’re not going to sleep?” You ask him.

“I’ll keep guard for a bit.” 

“What? No. You need to sleep at some point.”

“I slept on the ship.”

“Yeah, for like, four hours yesterday. You need  _ real _ rest.” You order, an edge to your voice you don’t quite recognize. You hate that he does this, not take care of himself in any way. You wonder what he did before you, without your nagging for him to eat and sleep and take care of himself every once in a while. If you hadn’t ordered dinner for him to bring up here tonight, the fool wouldn’t have even eaten.

“I….I shouldn’t.”

“And why not?” You huff.

“It’s not proper.” 

Proper. Good Maker. Of course, that is just so Mandalorian. You sigh, slumping back into the bed, too tired to prop yourself up but not too tired to continue asking. 

“Mando. I trust you. Come to bed, please.” Your voice is barely above a whisper but it works because after a few moments, you hear the chair scrape again as Mando stands. A self-satisfied smile spreads on your lips, one that Mando can probably see with all the fancy settings his helmet allows. Your heartbeat quickens at the idea of sharing a bed with Mando, maybe even holding him. 

The sounds of Mando shucking off his boots is like a lullaby to your ears. You honestly don’t know how he sleeps fully geared and he does it quite often. You’ve found him far too many times sleeping at his pilot’s chair. The bed creaks as he makes his way under the covers, somehow leaving a full foot of space between the two of you on the already small bed. Cold crawls in between the two of you, between the gap he leaves by being too far away. Even though it’s barely a foot, you feel like it’s a mile. 

You’re not sure if it’s the cover of darkness that gives you courage or the absolutely ridiculous lack of heat in the room but with a huff, you reach over to him and pull him close. He goes rigid when you do but you wrap an arm around his middle and thrust yourself into his immediate space anyways. The gasp is audible but you don’t stop there, making sure to nestle your head at the junction of his armpit and slinging an arm over his waist, the end of his helmet bumping into your scalp. He’s so stiff the position is actually uncomfortable. You might as well be snuggling a droid but you don’t give up, you can’t  _ now _ after what you’ve done. 

So you don’t. You take a deep breath in and relax against him, reveling in the heat he gives off just by being human, by being real. Warmth starts pooling under the blankets again and your ear is pressed to the cloth of his shirt. His heart soon becomes audible, thumping strong and fast. You wonder how long it’s been since he’s been touched or embraced. You wonder when was the last time he was kissed before you, wonder who it may have been. When was the last time anyone touched him with love, with care, with devotion? 

Time passes, you’re not sure how long. He becomes less rigid but still, he’s tense. His arm doesn’t curl around you, merely held out on the bed and he lays flat on his back. But he’s warm, and it’s been an awfully long time since you’ve been in bed with someone that you’re getting tired again anyways. 

“(Y/N).”

“Hm?” You reply sleepily. 

“I’m--” His chest rises and falls with a deep intake of air. “I’m going to take off my helmet.” 

Oh. You don’t expect that, not in the least bit. You sit up for him and your ears pick up the sibilance of him removing the last of his beskar. His body twists, placing it down on the ground beside the bed before returning to its previous position. You rest yourself back onto his chest, this time his body responding with enthusiasm laced with desperation. You’re pudding as he wraps himself around you, slotting a leg in between yours, hands going to your hair to pull you close.

A nose bumps into your forehead, breath fanning across your face and for some reason, you feel like crying. You can’t see him, not even an outline or a shadow but just knowing Mando is in the same room as you and comfortable enough to have his helmet off does something to you that you can’t explain. You feel his shaky breath underneath your palm and you stroke your hand down his back in hopes of easing him. 

“This is nice.” You whisper, eyes falling shut again. 

He merely hums in response, the sound of it a small part of what his voice really sounds like. Oh right, you have no idea what his voice sounds like. 

“Mando?” You say, a little louder than before.

“What is it?” His words wash over you like the softest Coruscant silk and you can’t help the smile that spreads across your face. He sounds so kind, so gentle. Nothing at all like the Mandalorian you’ve seen kill a man without a second thought. And it’s all for you. 

“Nothing. Wanted to hear your voice.” You confess, happy with the success of your ploy. You feel  _ and _ hear him give a short laugh, your senses flooded with everything that makes him _him_. He still smells faintly of the soap you use for his clothes and there’s a smile in the kiss he presses to your forehead. 

A kiss to your forehead is not enough. You’re greedy for him, starving now that you know what it’s like to truly hold him. You tilt your face up, fingers unintentionally bunching up in his shirt and ever the smart one, Mando knows exactly what you need from him. A pet name falls from his lips,  _ cyare _ , your favorite though what it means you have no clue, before he presses them to yours. He kisses you soft and slow, as if this is the last time he ever will and is trying to memorize every aspect of it.

It’s different from Yiven. Yiven was a necessity, chaste and for show but now Mando makes you feel like you’re the only woman he’s ever touched. It’s just the two of you in this bed, nothing else matters. All you can feel is him, large hands on your body and fingers threading through your hair to press his fingertips to your scalp. You inch yourself closer to him, hands running up his side and he sighs dreamily into your mouth. 

The cold of the planet is soon forgotten as your body heats up like a furnace. A hand, bare and gloveless snakes its way up your shirt, splaying across your back and fingertips pressing indents into your skin. Your body arches into his, so sensitive after not being touched for so long and lust clouds all your senses. He feels so good, so heavy and solid on your body and it’s been so long since you’ve allowed someone to touch you like this, so long since you’ve adored someone this much.

Another hand is cupping your face, thumb pressing down on your chin to open your mouth. His tongue sweeps inside your mouth, tongue running across your own and he keeps your mouth open by holding your cheeks between his thumb and pointer finger. You’ve never been kissed like this and he tastes so unbelievably good, slightly salty from dinner but mostly just like skin and warmth. Mando squeezes at your waist, at the curves you have there that you’ve always been a little self conscious of. It doesn’t seem to bother him, not with the way his fingers are moving to touch more, to grab your thighs and grip so tight you’re sure it’ll bruise. You tilt your hips up, legs going to wrap around him as your center aches for touch already after just a few kisses.

Mando grunts at that, hand tightening in your hair which draws out a whimper from your throat. Oh, that changes things--drastically. His kiss turns hungry, sloppy and his whole body weight presses you into the bed. The knee not between your legs moves and you trap him in the confines of your thighs as he positions himself to hover above you. Both your hands travel from his waist, upwards and upwards across his stomach and chest until you can feel the skin of his neck, the stubble of his jaw, the curls on his head. 

He’s hard and  _ big _ . You can tell already, even more so when Mando let’s out a dark, deep moan into your mouth and truly presses himself between your legs. You’re not a virgin by any means but just from feeling him, you know he’s going to split you apart. That is if you can even take him entirely, the thought of that scary and exciting all at once. You huff when he lets your lips go, whine when he starts kissing your jaw and neck. Teeth bite at your collarbone, hard and that only makes you wetter somehow, you’re probably soaked through your layers. 

Mando grinds against you again and you moan so deliriously, it doesn’t even sound like you in your ears. It’s so damn loud in the silence of the room, and you slap a hand over your own mouth as to not wake up the very innocent baby just a few feet away. He sleeps like the dead, truthfully but you don’t want to risk it. 

The hand on your face lowers and the web of his hand presses against your throat. You gasp at the action because you’ve never pegged Mando to be into that sort of play. Regardless, you bare your neck to him, trusting him entirely to do whatever he wants. You’re ready for it, willing to do anything but nothing comes. Mando rests his palm against your neck for another moment, a kiss pressed to your lips that is gone before you can return it, and then he’s rolling off of you.

The blankets have been pushed off the bed by all the commotion and without Mando’s body covering yours, the cold quickly returns. You’re extremely confused. He was enjoying the intimacy--or at least you thought. It certainly felt and sounded like he was enjoying it, just as much as you were. So why is now on the other side of the bed, the only thing touching on his body touching you now his shoulder?

“Um. Are you alright?” You venture softly after a very long minute, closing your legs with a tinge of shame. You hope you haven’t done anything sacrilegious, make him break his Creed without meaning to or anything. 

“No.” The short response physically makes your heart hurt and you flinch away from him.

“Oh.” You whisper, stomaching plummeting into the center of the planet. 

It might as well be physical whiplash, going from needing him to not having him at all. You feel yourself shrink, breaking the skin contact and you’re getting up out of the bed to go somewhere, anywhere to nurse your hurt pride. Your feet have barely touched the floor when you hear him speak again. 

“It’s not like that.” Mando continues, and you hear the sound of him reaching out for you, sheets scratching. His hand wraps around your arm delicately, so different from his grip just seconds ago and a part of you wants to rip yourself away to recompose yourself. A larger part though, hears his voice, how pleading it is and it roots you to the bed. 

“I--We don’t have to. It’s fine.” You say, the words wobbling with the tears that are already threatening to spill. How embarrassing, you think, to be rejected like this. 

“ _ Ner karta, _ it’s not  _ like that _ .” He repeats, tugging you back to him. You’re weak, pathetically so and follow without anymore persuasion. You don’t allow him to lay you back down and you stay sitting up, but you’re back on the bed now and it seems to be enough for him. 

“Then what is it?” You ask, exasperated. “Because I thought--you seemed to be enjoying it as much as I was.” 

Mando takes a moment before answering, the hand on your arm finding your hand to interlace your fingers. It’s fairly new, the gesture, you’ve only ever held his bare hands a few times before and like a fool your heart skyrockets as if you didn’t have him between your legs just minutes beforehand. 

“ _ Cyare _ , I don’t want the first time I fuck you to be like this.” 

The vulgarity of his words--not so different from anything you’ve ever heard before but hearing it from your Mandalorian, your ever so polite and short worded Mandalorian--punches through your gut. 

“Oh.” You breathe, flames licking up your face.

Mando pulls a little harder this time and your head falls back onto the pillow, body curling towards him. He nudges your nose with his--how is he so good at telling where you are?--and waits for you to close the gap for a kiss. How could you deny him? You do what he wants, pressing your lips to his. It lingers, this kiss, and you truly believe you can feel his heart through his skin, pounding just as much as yours is. 

“When I fuck you, I want to be able to take my time. I want to be able to  _ hear _ you.” He whispers, so damn casual you’d think he was asking for a glass of water. Your muscles clench around nothing and you’re reminded how much you want him, how unsatisfied he’s left you. “Do you understand,  _ mesh’la _ ? The problem is how badly I want you, nothing else.” 

“I’m a grown woman, Mando. I can keep quiet.” You tell him, reaching for the bounty hunter. Your hand finds his chest and he shakes with laughter.

“If i’m doing my job correctly, you won’t be able to.” He says, the confidence and swagger so surprising. You’d think he’d be an awkward little thing in the sheets, and you’re fully ready to play the boss but it seems you don’t need to. You lick your lips, wanting to argue but the promise of something even better than the short ten minutes you just had with him is too tempting.

“Okay.” You breathe. 

Mando takes this as permission to pull you to him, bringing up the blankets that were kicked off. The warmth you crave so bad cocoons around you as you find yourself back in his arms, as close as you were before but with new meaning. It’s a new situation for you, all the people you’ve slept with in the past just as eager as you to get off. Yet Mando, he wants to make sure it’s  _ right _ . 

You’ve never had that before, but then again, there has been no one like Mando. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't know how to write smut w/o feelings so here's a 50k fic because i wanted to write like 1 scene where din bones you lmao (yes, there's real smut later on, but feelings first)


	11. ten point five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> smut, 18+ only!
> 
> this chapter is purely filler, no plot whatsoever so feel free to skip!!

It’s debaucherous.

Din’s thoughts have taken a turn for the sinful and it’s not right. He knew he shouldn’t have gotten into that bed with (Y/N), knew it could only end in one way. He has been dreaming about her for what feels like eons, his desire rising at an exponential rate with each passing day with her. It’s a miracle he managed to find a speck of self control inside him that night, especially when she was so eager to please him, to press her throat into the palm of his hand.

The Mandalorian takes in a shaky breath just thinking about it, knuckles going white underneath the gloves as he grips the lever to push them into hyperdrive. It all echoes in his head constantly, the moans she made, the plushness of her skin. He wishes he had images to go with it but it was so dark in that room, even his eyes which are trained to see in the barest of light couldn’t make out an outline of his beloved.

A dam has been broken. Every time he looks at her now, he’s reminded just how she has reacted under his touch. He wants it again, that intoxicating taste of her tongue in his mouth. The want burns through him every time she looks at him, when she smiles and laughs at something he’s said. Din has never wanted someone more, his attraction to her stronger than a black hole. He knows he’s the one that asked her to wait until he could find a more suitable environment but now he’s afraid he’s the one that will act impulsively. 

“Dank ferrik.” Din swears, spinning around in his chair. He stands, armour a comfortable weight on his skin and starts to make his way below the deck to check on the supplies. They are almost there, the Tribe’s coordinate on the target planet downloading into the ship’s data currently to aid Din in finding the new location. Perhaps a bit of boring counting and cataloging will clear his mind. 

The universe does the exact opposite of what he wants. (Y/N) is there when he makes his final step down the ladder, ready for bed in a ridiculously short pajama set he’s never seen before. This isn’t the brown cotton set he’s used to, this one is a shimmering black silk. The shorts are just as short as her other outfit and the camisole is trimmed with matching lace. Din’s mouth waters as (Y/N) continues with her and the child’s nightly routine. She’s humming, patting the little one’s back as she rocks back and forth between her bare feet. Her head is resting on his, eyes closed as they go through the movements. 

“Hey there.” (Y/N) says, sending him a soft smile when she sees him. The glint of her beskar catches Din’s eyes and he finds pleasure knowing she always wears it, rain or shine. 

“Hi. We’ll arrive by the morning.” Din tells her, the urge to be near her moving his feet. 

“Good, he’s anxious to be on solid ground.” (Y/N) pats the child's back, the thud solid as she walks to the pram to set him down. Din reaches forward, rubs the little one’s ear between his fingers for a moment and then shuts the pram so he can rest. He’s already asleep by the time his head hits the pillow.

“You should get some rest before we arrive.” Din says softly, turning to (Y/N). She’s looking up at him with a look in her eyes that he’s not too familiar with, not from her at least. Bedroom eyes, Din pegs, lashes fanned and mouth parted. The urge to kiss her nearly lurches him forward. 

“I’ll try.” (Y/N) says and Din knows she’s not even thinking about what she’s saying. She’s thinking about something  _ else _ , something much too obvious. (Y/N) hasn’t exactly been subtle in what she wants from him since that night, in her actions or her words. 

“Don’t look at me like that.” Din orders, throat dry and heart pounding. 

“Like what?” She smirks because she knows, and Din makes himself take in a breath to steady himself. Still, he is unable to look away from her, unable to step away from her body. 

“You know what.” He murmurs. She just shrugs, still with that smile on her lips before she reaches up for him. Fingers brush across his cuirass, dipping into the center to run her hand along the smelted lines. He feels her touch underneath the metal, hot and wanting. 

“Come to bed with me.” (Y/N) asks of him, untold requests layered between the words. Din sighs, the strength of his resolve slowing chipping away with each thing she says. 

“I’m not going to do that.” He says plainly. She pouts, like a child and Din laughs because it’s so cute. “ _ Cyar'ika _ , you’re going to bed alone.” 

Din reaches up, brushes his thumb across her cheek and (Y/N)’s pout transforms into that smile he adores so much. She turns her face, eyes falling shut and presses a kiss to the palm of his glove. It’s such a sincere action, one that makes Din’s heart swell up a million times it’s normal size. A wave of affection, so overwhelming and nearly suffocating washes over him at the sight of her lips pressed to his hand. 

She reaches up with her own hand, pressing it over his to keep him from leaving. As if he would, as if anything could tear him away from her right now. (Y/N)’s eyes open and look straight at him, somehow always able to do that even through the tinted visor. She continues to press another kiss to the fleshy part of his thumb and out of instinct, Din presses his thumb against her lips for more. 

(Y/N) complies, always so eager but she shocks him when her lips part. It was just barely, just enough for Din to see the white of her teeth and pink of tongue. A primal part of his mind takes over and Din takes in a hiss of a breath. He presses his thumb past her lips and she opens up for him, just like that, tongue flattening so he can press his glove against it. Her lips pucker around him, and he feels the suction before he sees the swallow of her throat. It’s so obscene, obviously reminiscent of another act of sin, that Din snaps. 

“Maker, you--” He growls, stepping forward and pushing her back into the wall. A hand on her chest holds her there, one of his knees between her legs. A shiver runs visibly through her, the cold of the ship surely obvious through the thin layers of her sleeping clothes. It’s much rougher than he wants to be, he’s always so much more unrefined than he wants to be but the way her eyes flutter and her breath hitches--she  _ likes _ it.

Heat floods south and the last of Din’s resolve dissipates into nothing. She doesn’t speak, merely looking at him with lust dripping out of her as his hand traces a path from her chest down her stomach, all the way to the top of her waistband. He stops there but pushes things further by raising his knee and pressing the beskar plate on his thigh in between her legs. Din reaches for her thigh with his free hand, hitching it up so he can press himself closer to her center. 

She whimpers, head falling back onto the wall when she feels his actions. He wishes he could discard his helmet, wishes he could kiss the column of her neck and bite into that skin she’s baring for him. But he can’t, not yet, so he goes for the next best thing and reaches for her with his other hand. The orange tips of his gloves grip her jaw in a not-to-gentle manner, turn her eyes back to him and her touch comes to rest on his forearm. 

“Is this what you want?” Din asks her with a tilt of his head. (Y/N) pulls her bottom lip between her teeth as he pushes his leg up higher. She gives a frantic nod, weight coming down on his thigh as she finds her pleasure on the metal. Her free hand comes up to his chest for support, the one around his forearm squeezing tighter. Din watches the beautiful image before him, a wonderful woman grinding herself on his beskar, desperate for something only he can do for her.

“Mando, I need more.” She pleads, the motion of her talking causing his fingers to loosen. 

Din runs his thumb down her jaw and past her neck, stopping to cup one of her breasts in his palm. (Y/N) sighs in relief when he does, pressing her chest into his hand and she’s so damn soft even with his gloves diminishing his sense of touch. Her nipple perks up with the stimulation and Din can’t help but move his thumb over the little mountain, getting a jerk from (Y/N) in return.

“This is what you’re going to get from me. Make good use of it.” 

Din nudges up with his knee again to make a point, squeezing her tits harshly, memorizing that moan she lets escape. He wants to do more than just this, wants to touch her in a million ways but if he starts he won’t be able to stop and he wants more than  _ this _ to be their first time together. He doesn’t want sex in some corner of his ship or in that pathetic cubby he calls his bed, he wants to spread (Y/N) open and taste her, touch every inch of her until his fingerprints are tattooed into her skin. 

“Kriff, Mando.” (Y/N) grunts in frustration. “ _ Please _ , I need-- _ something _ , please.”

A growl rumbles up from Mando’s chest, the sound of her begging for him absolutely delicious. He decides to take pity, knowing he left her dissatisfied the other night and lowers his knee. It comes away slick, her arousal evident on the beskar and Din doesn’t know if he’s seen anything better in his whole life. 

“Like the sound of you begging for me,  _ cyare _ .” Din says, removing his hands from her body to shuck off his gloves. (Y/N) gulps at that, eyes going to his bare skin. Din can practically see her start salivating as she licks her lips, waiting for him to move. 

“Yeah?” (Y/N) asks, voice small as she looks up at him. He hums in response, slipping his fingers up the hem of her shirt.

“What man wouldn’t?” He returns instead of answering, a hand travelling north while another reaches around. She arches her back at the feel of his skin on hers, simultaneously pushing her chest and ass into his touch. No one has ever wanted him this much or been as responsive as (Y/N). Din is rock hard, has been since he touched her but ladies always cum first. 

Din gives her rump a quick squeeze before reaching around to her front, chuckling at her surprised yelp. His hand slides easily behind the silk of her shorts and past the cotton of her underwear. She’s kriffing soaked, had to be in order to wet his beskar but to feel it between his fingers is sinful on another level. 

“Fucking desperate for it, aren’t you?” Din growls, swiping his fingers between her folds. 

“Maker, yes, yes.” She pants, grinding herself on his hand, her fingers curling on his shoulders for purchase. He gropes at her chest, fingers twisting around a nipple and she keens, the feel of her absolutely heavenly under his touch. 

Din easily inserts two fingers up, could probably fit a third if he tried and moves slowly inside her. She’s velvety soft, drenched, muscles contracting around him so tight he can’t help but think about how she would feel on his cock. He rubs his thumb across the nub of her clitoris, drawing out a moan from her throat that could most definitely be heard by those flying by. He hooks his fingers as he drags them out of her cunt and the sound she makes is absolutely lewd. 

“What happened to being quiet,  _ cyare _ ?” Din teases. She lets out a laugh and Din grins, grateful he can have all this with her. 

“Shut up.” She says with no real malice, voice stuttering as Din hooks his fingers and drags them along the wall of her pussy. Her arousal floods his hand and he can smell it through the helmet. 

“You ready to cum for me?” DIn asks, pressing up forcefully. Her lids flutter, eyes rolling back and he knows he’s found that magical spot inside that makes women see stars. 

“Y-Yes, just--harder, fuck, please, harder.” Din growls at the request, other hand going to her throat. He squeezes tightly, not even giving her a moment to prepare herself and moves faster inside her pussy. In, out, in, out, curling his fingers and pressing his palm to her clit. It doesn’t take long, she’s already been on the edge since he’s touched her and she cums so hard Din feels her legs shake against his. It goes on and on and on, Din never knew it could last this amount of time but he strokes her through it, touches light as to not overstimulate her. 

“Good girl.” Din praises, loosening his grip around her throat. He goes to hold her up, legs still jelly. (Y/N) sucks in a breath, riding out her orgasm as he allows her to clench around his fingers until it’s over. When she stops trembling so much, Din slips his fingers out of her and she nearly collapses in his arms. When he holds his fingers up to her face, she dutifully cleans them off with her eyes fluttering closed.

“Oh Maker.” (Y/N) whispers breathlessly, pressing her forehead into the crook of his neck, hands clutching as his clothes. 

“You’re very pretty when you cum.” Din compliments, smiling underneath his helmet. 

He knows she’s red and he only laughs when she half-heartedly hits his chest with a fist. (Y/N) lifts her face from his neck, eyes glazed over in that post-orgasm haze and pride fills Din. He’s admiring her, thinking about how he could probably make her cum again if he wanted when he feels her touch between his legs. He’s hard still of course, and his whole mind blanks when (Y/N) runs her hand along his length. 

“Mando, you should let me suck your cock.” (Y/N) suggests casually, tongue coming out to wet her lips. 

Din’s grip on her hips tighten and he knows she’s got him. With a smile, both her hands travel south, reaching underneath his armor to pull at the strings on his trousers that keep them up. She pushes him towards the wall, flipping their positions and Din can’t help but stare as she falls to her knees. 

(Y/N)’s beautiful, always beautiful. She’s beautiful when she’s working, grease and blaster soot smeared across her forehead. She’s beautiful dressed up in jewels and dark green tulle. She’s beautiful late at night, snuggled into his old tunics and face freshly washed. She’s beautiful as she rocks their  _ ad’ika  _ to sleep midday for a nap, late at night to rest. She’s beautiful now, on her knees in front of him, pushing down his pants and opening her mouth wide to take him in.

Din grunts, body sagging into the wall with a clang as she wraps her warmth around him. His pants bunch up around his thighs, unable to go down any further with the armor strapped there but that’s all (Y/N) needs in order to free him from the confines of clothing. She’s not afraid to go straight for it, tongue lapping around the head of his cock as her free hands wrap around his girth. Din knows he’s large, figured that out when he nearly hurt a woman during his first time with his size and he’s used to hesitancy when it comes to that fact. 

Yet, (Y/N) is unafraid, taking in as much as she can of him on her first pass. Her mouth is molten hot, tongue flat against the underside of his dick. Din’s hands curl into fists by his side, unsure if he can dig his hands into her hair the way she wants. Watching her run his tongue up the underside of him, palms at his thigh and hip, he feels himself losing control more and more by the second. He’s swearing like a pirate now, absolutely garish but he can’t help it as she goes to sink down on him, inch by inch by inch. Her pretty little mouth is puckered around him, eyes fallen shut as she focuses on bringing him to the edge. His hips jerk, pushing him past her throat and she audibly gags but pushes forward until her face is buried into his dark hair. 

“Kriff,  _ cyare _ , I’ll cum if you keep--” 

(Y/N) moans at his words, bobbing her head up and down his length. Dear girl wants it, of course she does and Din has enough sense to give it to her. It doesn’t take much and he’s got a hand in her hair as his mind stops thinking about etiquette and more about how he’s going to blow. Fingers scrunch into her scalp, pulling tightly at the hair follicles there and (Y/N) just sinks into his touch. 

Din fucks her mouth savagely, pushing her down and bringing her back by the clutch he has in her hair. She takes it all without complaint, widening her mouth to accompany him and Din cums so hard he nearly blacks out. It thunders through him, every muscle he’s got tensing with exertion and (Y/N) whimpers beneath him as she swallows it continuously.

He lets go of the hold he’s got on her hair and she comes off of him with a gasp. Din takes note of the tears streaming down her cheeks, the way spit dribbles down to her chin and how a line of it connects from the tip of him to her lip. (Y/N) gapes up at him with glittering eyes, swallowing his load with a gulp and the image is so, so, so  _ pretty _ .

“ _ Osik, ner karta _ .” Din whispers. “Come here.” 

She does as she’s told, hands cleverly pulling his trousers up and around his hips as she rises to her feet. Din pulls her close, as close as he can and she rests her hands on the front of his cuirass for support. He wipes away the tears on her cheeks, smooths down the hair that he mussed up. 

“Well, that was  _ nice _ .” (Y/N) remarks, giggling at her choice of her words. 

“Let me kiss you.” Din begs, the urge to do just so overwhelming. Her lips part in surprise, pupils dilating. “Shut your eyes and let me kiss you.” 

Lashes flutter shut and Din lifts his helmet off his head. He doesn’t dare let it fall from his grasp, placing it on the floor beside them before cupping (Y/N)’s face in both of his hands. Din wishes there was something more than a kiss that he could to  _ show _ her just how much he cares for her but for now, it’s all he’s got. He pours his whole heart into the action of pressing his lips to hers, nearly crying when she kisses him back, fingers gripping at the sides of his shirt. 

“(Y/N), I--” His words catch in his throat, lips still brushing against hers as he speaks. His heart yearns to make itself known, the words heavy in his stomach. But now is not the right time, not yet.

“What is it?” She whispers back, eyes still shut. A wrinkle emerges on her forehead and Din just sighs, going to kiss it away. 

“Nothing. You need to rest.” He tells her. Releasing her from him, he reaches for his helmet before placing it back on. “Come on, to bed now.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oof.


	12. eleven

The mountain encrusted planet makes the landing rough and you’re hoping it's nothing but some cosmetic scratches. The Crest has seen enough and while she functions better with you around, constantly tinkering, it’d be better if she didn’t see any damage for a while. The jostling wakes up the child, which is fine as the sun is just starting to rise over the horizon. He’s fussier as of late and clingier too, always having to be with you or Mando.

“Hopefully it’s a phase, huh, buddy.” You say to the child, lifting him out of his pod. His forehead wrinkles at that, sniffling still and he reaches around your neck to cuddle. That’s when you feel it, the hotness of his forehead at your jaw. You press your free hand to his head, alarmed when you’re met with a fever and sweat.

“Mando!” You yell, immediately going to where Mando keeps his medical supplies.

“What is it?” The voice is behind you and you turn to find your Mandalorian standing there, just seconds after you’ve called for him. 

“I think our little bean is sick.” You say worriedly. Mando walks over and takes the child from you, cradling the colicky baby. “He’s got a temperature, I can feel it.” 

“The Tribe will know what to do.” Mando says. “He’ll be alright.”

You bite your lip, fretting about the state of the baby. He’s only been fussy for a day or two, but you should have noticed it sooner. How could you not have felt his temperature rise? You’re holding him nearly all the time. Did he catch something on that cold, snowy planet? How? You wrapped him up like a present. You start to blame yourself for it because who else's fault could it be but yours? 

The sound of your name coming from Mando breaks you out of your little pity party and you look up from the baby. “It’s not your fault.” Mando says. “Children get sick. He’ll be alright.” 

“I should have caught it sooner.” You lament with a sigh, wrapping yourself up in your own arms.

“The Tribe will take care of our clan. Do not worry.” He steps towards you, bumping his forehead on yours and a small smile cracks through your features. 

Mando doesn’t say anymore than that. You nestle the little one in his sling and hold him across your chest. He sleeps, also something he’s been doing more often, and he sleeps the whole way to the Tribe. The entrance is an opening in one of the many mountains and somehow, Mando knows just where to go after leaving the ship. You follow behind him dutifully and it’s nearly an hour later before you reach the opening. You’re sweating from the hike but the mouth of the cave blows cool air your way.

“It’s going to be dark.” Mando informs you, holding out one of his hands for you to hold. “Trust me?”

“With everything.” 

The immediate answer, one you didn’t even have to think about, echoes at the mouth of the mountain. You take his hand, step in behind him and the world fades away. He walks slowly to allow you to adjust to the changes in terrain, the dirt ground that switches to rocky floors and varying heights. Even with your vision gone, you don’t feel an ounce of your sense of safety slip away. Mando would never allow anything to happen to you or the child, so much so you’d walk into the mouth of a beast as long as he’s by your side. You walk like that for a little while, not sure how long but then Mando stops. 

“The Hunter. He has arrived.” The voice is unfamiliar while familiar all at the same time. It’s similar to Mando’s voice in that modulated way, but different still to inform you there’s a different body underneath the armor. 

Light floods your eyes and you wince at the sudden change. A door has opened, a shadowy figure standing in it. You recognize the silhouette immediately, having been looking at it consistently for the past six months of your life. It’s a Mandalorian, but not your Mandalorian. This one is slightly shorter but stockier, antenna jutting up from their helmet. 

“ _ Su cuy'gar,  _ Doorkeeper.” Mando says from beside you. 

He reaches out with his free hand and the other Mandalorian responds in kind. They grip each other's forearms as a handshake as your eyes slowly adjust. A ring enters the air, their beskar meeting as their heads touch. It’s such an inspiring sight in front of you, almost as surreal as when you first met Mando in your little hangar. Never in your life you thought you would befriend a Mandalorian nevermind be in the presence of two. 

The other Mandalorian is looking at you now, armor and helmet very similar to your Mandalorian but more beat up. There are dents and marks where there shouldn’t be; you would know, polishing Mando’s armor when he’s too tired to do it himself. You shoot him a smile, your very best as a greeting but just like when you met Mando, there’s no discernible response. 

“Who is this?” The Doorkeeper asks. Mando’s hand squeezes around yours, taking a moment before responding. 

“My  _ dala _ .” He says, offering your name afterwards. Silence hangs between them and you wonder what that word means. You’ve been meaning to pick up a Mando’a translator chip for your datapad but like always, the credits always needed to be used for something more important. 

“She wears a  _ dinui _ .” The other Mandalorian says, a hint of breathlessness in his voice. “Your intended  _ dala _ ?”

“Yes.” 

A bit more silence. You look between the two but they’re not looking at you, only each other. Is it always like this with Mandalorians? Dramatic pauses and whatnot?

Suddenly, the other Mandalorian laughs rambunctiously. You flinch when he reaches for Mando, a hand cupping behind your bounty hunter’s neck to pull him forward. Mando releases your hand as he’s pulled to his brother, the hitting of their two heads is more violent this time. The loud clang jolts the child in your arms, his fear matching your own. He starts to wail, the sound absolutely disastrous to your ears. 

“Oh, darling.” You whisper, both arms coming up to rock him. Your palm on his forehead tells you he’s still feverish, possibly even more so than earlier.

“Yours?” The Doorkeeper asks. “You’ve been busy, Hunter.”

“A foundling!” Mando rushes to answer. “Just a foundling.”

“He’s sick.” You interject, unable to wait any longer. “His fever keeps getting higher.” 

“Come in, come in.” You’re ushered in beside Mando and take a moment to drink in your surroundings as the Mandalorian behind you locks up the entrance. 

A dozen Mandalorians greet you, all as stoic and silent as the Mandalorian you know. The ceilings are high, black stalactites hanging from the ceiling and you see openings to other rooms at various points of the room. There are children here, dressed in clean but threadbare clothes. They wear no armor and you’re met with wide, shocked eyes. You realize you may be the first face they have seen in years and the thought makes you want to sweep them all up in your arms.

“The infirmary is this way.” The Doorkeeper directs, leading you and Mando to the left. Heads follow you, shyness not in their vocabulary and it would make you feel uncomfortable if you weren’t so anxious about the child’s well being. 

“Thank you, brother.” Mando says. “I have brought supplies as well, they are on my ship.”

“Send them to Paz, he’ll take a crew to retrieve them.” 

“That’s...new.” The other Mandalorian grunts in agreement. Mando had informed you that they generally allow only one Mandalorian out at a time, and it’s been him. 

“After coming to your aid, a few things have changed.” He says. “Hiding in the shadows has given us the ability to survive, but now we are unsure of how long. The winds are changing.”

The room you all enter is smaller than the main room and you spot beds and medical supplies. A Mandalorian dressed in silver and white painted armor approaches you, wiping their hands with a black cloth.

“Gordo, what brings you here?” They wonder, feminine voice welcome amongst all the testosterone you’ve been facing.

“The Hunter has returned. He needs help.” Gordo answers.

“My  _ a’dika _ is ill. Can you help him, healer?” Mando asks. You peel back the sling, adjust the robes on the little one’s body. He’s sweating profusely now, clothes damp and you feel his discomfort as your own. His eyes are still shut, wrinkles on his forehead as his face grimaces in uneasiness. 

“He’s had a fever all day, and he’s been fussier as of late.” You tell her as she walks over to you, hand coming up to place on the child's head. 

“Has he been eating? Drinking?” She asks you.

“Yes, but just not as much as I’m used to.” You answer. She hums in contemplation and holds her hands out for him. You don’t want to let him go, arms tightening around him but Mando comes to your side.

“He’s safe here,  _ cyare _ .” He promises you. You look at him, worry evident on your face and with a sigh you reluctantly hand him over. He cries, of course he does, any child would when being handed off to a stranger. 

“We will give him some fever reducers, get some fluids into him.” The healer says, bringing him to a bed. “With sleep and rest, your  _ adiik _ will recover. This is the Way.”

“This is the Way.” Mando echoes, and you hear the relief in his voice. 

“Thank you, Healer.” The one you now know as Gordo says. He places a hand on Mando’s shoulder, patting affectionately. “Come now, Hunter. We must celebrate your return. The Armorer will be pleased.” He leads the both of you away, away from your son and your stomach knots itself up. If Mando isn’t worried, you shouldn’t be either, but it just happened so fast. 

It’s so quiet here, as quiet as the ship used to be before you arrived. Eyes follow you as you make your way through the tunnels, Mando’s hand in yours to guide you when the light is particularly low. Your free hand clutches at your beskar, the only thing similar between you and the rest of the population here. They’re all doing a variety of tasks, cleaning weapons and mending armor. 

There’s even  _ children _ here you find, trailing behind Mando and the Doorkeeper. You can’t help but stop in your tracks when you see them, a few older one sitting and chatting, the younger dancing as they chant a rhyme while playing a hand-clapping game.

_ Ba'jur, beskar'gam,  _ _ Education and armor, _

_ Ara'nov, aliit,  _ _ Self-defense, our tribe, _

_ Mando'a bal Mand'alor—  _ _ Our language, our leader— _

_ An vencuyan mhi.  _ _ All help us survive. _

Suddenly, a small ball is kicked your way. Reacting naturally, you reach down to pick it up and brush it off. It’s old, made of rubber and you can tell it’s been beaten at consistently. Two children appear in front of you, a young boy and girl whose hair is cut short at her chin. 

“Hey there. This yours?” You ask, crouching down to their height. You hold out the ball and the girl takes it from you gingerly. 

“Are you a Mandalorian?” The boy pipes up, eyes as wide as the moons. You laugh and shake your head. 

“Do I look like a Mandalorian?” You ask him, gesturing at your clothes that are closer to theirs than Mando’s.

“You’re wearing beskar.” The girl indicates, a finger coming up to point at your necklace.

“Oh yes, well, this is a gift from…” You trail off, unsure what to call Mando. Friend? Boyfriend? Significant other? You guys have never had that conversation. You always mean to bring it up but it never seemed to be the right time. 

“A  _ dinui _ from me.” Mando offers. The child’s heads tilt up to your Mandalorian, surprise dawning on their face. At first, you think it’s because it’s, well, Mando he seems to be well known around these parts but their surprise is turned on you.

“A  _ dinui  _ from the hunter. Then you are a sister!” The little girl beams at that but you don’t think she’s quite right. A sister would mean you’re a part of the Tribe, if you’re guessing right. It dawns on you that you know almost nothing about Mando’s life here and you’d have some sense of shame if the children in front of you weren’t inching close and closer.

“Will you come play with us, sister?” The boy asks, holding out the ball for you. 

“It’s an easy game, we’ll teach you!” The girl says, grabbing onto your hand excitedly. You look down at the connection, feeling her skin against yours. She’s still so small in your hand, still a baby practically and you wonder how she got here, where her parents are.

“(Y/N) will have time later.” Gorgo says authoritatively. His voice has them stepping back respectfully, but there’s no fear there and you’re glad to see that the foundlings are being well taken care of.

“When later?”

“Yeah, before dinner?”

“I will be sure to bring her by.” Mando promises, reaching for your hand again. You take it, let him pull you up back to your feet. You blow raspberries at the kids as you walk away, earning yourself a plethora of giggles and other children coming to see what’s going on.

“You’re good with children.” Gordo comments happily. “We could do with another keeper in these mines.”

“She’s a better ship engineer.” Mando says affectionately. 

“Who says I can’t do both?” You ask with a flash of a smile. Gordo laughs at that and you imagine he’s handsome under that helmet, the way an older uncle would be. 

“I am happy for you, Hunter. You have found yourself a worthy  _ dala _ .” Gordo shoves his shoulder into Mandos, the sound of metal entering the air again. Mando shoves him back goodnaturedly and you smile at the playfulness of it all. 

“The Armorer, she is unharmed?” Mando asks, voice more caring than before. 

“Ask her yourself.” Gordo responds, holding his arm out towards the hallway. Mando nods, walking first and Gordo allows you to follow before bringing up the rear. You enter a large domed room, hot like standing right beside an engine. You see why, eyes on the large flames burning at the back of the room. A vacuum hovers above it and the roar of the blue flames tells you just how hot it must be. The rest of the room is stocked with materials and tools, a single table in front of you for rest. 

A third Mandalorian walks into your vision, wearing maroon beskar and fur around their neck. She’s holding a blacksmith's tools, placing them down when she sees the company arriving. There’s an air about her that tells you she’s different from all the other Mandalorians you’ve met, chin tilted higher and demeanor more authoritative. 

“Armorer. I’m glad to see you made it out alive.” Mando says. He and Gordo go to kneel behind the table, the Armorer falling in suit on the other side. You copy them, kneeling besides Mando and placing your hands on your lap.

“As am I. You have brought someone to our Tribe.” She glances your way this time and usually you would smile or give your name, but you stay quiet. It wouldn’t do well to insult her and you’re not quite informed in Mandalorian social etiquette. 

“This is (Y/N).” Mando introduces. 

“Your  _ dala _ .” The Armorer looks straight at you now and Mando reaches over for your hand. While you’re not used to the public display of affection you return his sentiment by intertwining your fingers in his, happy for his presence to ground you in this foreign environment, 

“After all this time...I am happy for you, Hunter.” The Armorer says, voice soft. You really have to ask him what  _ dala _ means because everyone that hears it seems to understand it as something massive. 

“Yes, after all this time.” Din gives a short laugh, his head turning to you. You’re not sure what all this means but you give him a smile anyways, holding his hand tighter on your lap.

“Then you are a clan of three, and I must speak to her alone.” The Armorer announces causing you to turn to her. Alone? What in Maker’s name could she need that for? 

“Of course.” Gordo says, being the first to stand. Mando follows him and lets go of your hand, holding out his palm to let you know you need to stay where you are.

“I’ll have Gordo bring you to me later.” Mando says. “There are a few things I need to take care of.”

“Okay.” You reply, watching the two of them go before turning back to the Armorer.

“What is your name?” She asks you. You supply it and she nods, contemplating something you do not know. 

“Your necklace. A gift from the Hunter?” The Armorer inquires, a hint of wonder in her voice. 

“Oh this?” Your fingers come up to touch the smooth metal. You smile, remembering the moment he pulled it out. “Yes, from Mando.”

“Do you love him?” 

The question is so blunt that you’re unsure how to answer. You flinch at it, lips parting in shock. She doesn’t look away from you, doesn’t give you the slightest bit of emotion as you sit in silence in front of her. But then you think of what you feel for him, what you would do for him and the child, and the answer comes to you as clear as day. 

“Yes.” A laugh escapes you when the audible words cement your emotions. “Yes, of course I do.” 

Because what else could it be? These feelings for him? There is only one answer. 

“Then you are his  _ dala,  _ his intended  _ riduur _ .” She confirms, mainly to herself because you have no clue what the foreign words mean. “I must forge his signet on the  _ dinui _ .”

“Oh, I don’t have any beskar for you--” You start, abruptly stopping when she shakes her head.

“The Hunter has done more than enough for the Tribe. A bit of beskar for his  _ dala  _ is the least we can do.” 

She holds out her gloved hand, very much like Mando’s hands, and you know that you no longer have any say in the matter. You reach behind you to untie the leather, dropping the precious gift into her palm. It’s warm from always touching your skin and you feel hollow to suddenly be without it. You’ve worn it every single day, every moment since he’s given it to you. 

It’s quiet work after that and you’re fascinated with her smelting expertise. The flames are the hottest you’ve ever seen, they have to be in order to melt beskar at this rate. Her work is strong and precise, the little tinks of her tools a lullaby to your ears. You sit patiently on your knees as she works, mesmerized by her actions. It doesn’t take long, no more than fifteen minutes and then she’s plunging the pendant into cold water. 

“A mudhorn is your  _ jag _ ’s signet, and so a mudhorn signet you must adorn.” The Armorer says. She shows the new adornment to you, not quite finished and needing to be polished but gorgeous nonetheless. 

“It’s beautiful.” You say breathless, eyes roaming over the newly added beskar. The skull of a mudhorn, thin and wisely placed at the center of the disk is delicate and matches the signet you’ve seen on Mando’s pauldron many times before. 

“You may return later to retrieve it.” The Armour informs you. “I must perfect it.”

“I can’t...I can’t thank you enough.” You murmur, gazing up at her. She does not move, merely gazing upon you the way Mando has before. 

“This is the Way.” is all she says in return and from the finality of her voice, you know your conversation with the Armorer is over. 

You rise from your knees, the ache barely noticeable amidst the euphoria of having Mando’s signet placed on your gift from him. There’s a giddiness to your steps as you exit the room, finding Gordo waiting for you outside. 

“The Armorer is forging the Hunters signet on your  _ dinui _ , yes?” He asks, tapping his own chest to indicate yours. Your cheeks ache from the smile that’s been there all day and you nod. “As I thought. Come along now, there is help needed in the main hall. I have been told to put you to work.” 

“Where’s Mando?” You ask, following as Gorgo leads you through the labyrinth of halls. 

“He is distributing supplies. He will be meeting with some of the older foundlings later on to ready them. You have come right on time. The moon is full, and we will swear in a new generation of Mandalorians tonight.” 

“Oh stars, that’s amazing.” You say in awe. You’ve never seen a Mandalorian ceremony, doubt anyone but Mandalorians have. What an honor to be able to be a part of it tonight. 

“There will be fight and fun. Are you capable in battle?” Gorgo inquires curiously.

“Oh sure, but I doubt I could take a Mandalorian if they’re anything like the one I’ve been travelling with.” You say with laughter. In the time you’ve known him, you realized that there is nothing more lethal than a Mandalorian on a mission. All you can say is that you’re glad you’ve never been a bounty on the other end of his blaster. 

“We’ll put you up against one of the children.” Gordo jokes. He gives you a good once-over. “One of the smaller ones.” 

“Hey!” Your fake offense makes him laugh again, solidifying the friendship between the two of you. 

The main hall comes into view and the first Mandalorian you spot is yours. The pallets from his ship have been brought inside, others already spreading the supplies among the crowd. A majority of Mandalorians are going through the weaponry, durasteel and medical supplies. Yours? 

He’s crouching in front of the two children you met earlier, holding out a brand new ball.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we've made it to the tribe! only a few chapters left guys <3


	13. twelve

“Again.”

The young man in front of Din is panting and red from his forehead to his chest. His hair is buzzed short, a design all male students who are training must follow and his shirt is absolutely drenched with sweat. The other two to-be Mandalorians are with their own mentors in different training rooms, getting ready for the same thing. The swearing-in ceremony is to take place in just a few hours. 

“Again?” The man groans, falling out of his fighting stance. Din takes the chance to leap forward, shoving the kid’s shoulder to spin him around and push him onto the ground with a kick to the back of his knees. 

“Never let your guard down. Get up, kid.” Din orders, stepping back. 

It’s been an hour of this, preparing this child for his swearing-in ceremony. Din has been instilling the code into him, making sure he knows his fighting drills and measuring his capabilities as a Mandalorian. Can he manage with a blaster? Hand to hand combat? Are his instincts honed enough? Swearing the Creed is only allowed for those that are ready for it, regardless of age or sex, and this kid, Din isn’t sure. 

He wants to be sure because this is Gordo’s child and the Doorkeeper’s only family. His mother died in childbirth all those years ago and while Din can’t remember the mother, Din remembers the grief that overcame his friend. He didn’t understand it back then but now with his  _ a’dika _ and (Y/N) in his life, he realizes. How could he live on if either one of them left this galaxy? How has Gordo done it all this time? 

Din remembers his own ceremony so many years ago, the honor and diligence that came with it. It was the most monumental day in his life, after meeting the child and now, after meeting his beloved. The Tribe’s numbers were higher back then--there was more flair and panache but regardless of the environment, swearing-in ceremonies are the most pinnacle point of a Mandalorians life. It is when you get your armor and given your duty for the Tribe. He chose to fight and fight he has for the past twenty or so years of his life. 

“My name is Alis.” The boy snaps, brows furrowing together. 

“I don’t care.” Din retorts, just as sassily. “Do you think the enemy will care?”

The words are not taken well and Alis lunges for him. He’s filled with too much fire, too much anger and not enough finesse. Din dodges him easily, gripping the kids wrist as he does to wrench it back in an unnatural form. Alis lets out a yell of pain but Din doesn’t stop there because he can’t, he couldn’t possibly allow Gordo’s legacy to leave the safety of the Tribe unless he was ready to defend himself against anything and anyone out there. 

Din brings an elbow down between the Alis’ shoulder blades, driving him into the ground. Chest to the floor, Alis tries to roll over but Din has too much experience in battle for the newbie. He drops his weight down with his right knee onto Alis’ back, his other foot flat on the ground and left knee bent for flexibility. Alis tries to grab his left foot but Din is faster, taking a hold of his wrist and twisting it to his back while simultaneously pressing Alis’ face into the dirt. 

“Kriff!” Alis swears, wriggling underneath Din’s hold but he’s got no leverage, no extra weight of beskar or years of experience. He doesn’t give up, moving this way and that and Din has to give him that at least; the kid doesn’t forfeit. 

Two bodies enter the room and Din looks up from his student. It’s Gordo and his  _ dala _ , something different to her that he can’t pinpoint. It’s not until she smiles at him and waves her hand does he realize the shine of her beskar is missing. Right, she had removed it during her meeting with the Armorer. It still surprises him every time he sees her, so used to seeing her with it. 

Smart Alis takes his lapse in concentration to his advantage. With a heave, Alis rolls to his left, shifting Din’s center of gravity. The bounty hunter falls to his side, rolling quickly to get back to his feet. Alis is grinning when Din looks at him, but he’s not grinning at Din. He’s grinning at Gordo, his father, and Din decides the training is done for today. He has done what he can. 

“Look at that!” Gordo exclaims walking over with (Y/N). Immediately, her presence calms his heart rate and subconsciously, he angles his body towards her as she goes to place a hand at his waist. It’s such a domestic action, one that Din has gotten used to before he realized it was happening. 

“I’ve never seen anyone get the best of you before.” (Y/N) teases, tilting her chin up for a Keldabe kiss. Din smiles under the helmet, appeasing her want and trying to ignore the stares of Gordo and Alis. 

“The next generation should always be stronger than the last.” Din says, Gordo grunting in agreement.

“This is the Way.” The Doorkeeper says, turning to regard his son. 

“I’m ready,  _ buir _ .” Alis boasts, chest puffing out and chin rising. No doubt he’s a spitting image of his father, their personalities already so similar but Din wouldn’t know. Din didn’t grow up with Gordo. 

“That will be decided by the Tribe later on tonight.” Gordo reminds his son, patting his shoulder in pride anyways. “Now, Alis, this is the Hunter’s  _ dala.  _ Take her to get something to eat and drink.” 

“I can take her.” Din offers but Gordo shakes his head.

“No brother, you must help us prepare for the ceremony.” 

“It’s alright, I can hold my own against a few Mandalorians.” (Y/N) says to him. She lifts herself up on her toes, presses a quick kiss to the cheek of his helmet and is gone as soon as she arrives.

“You’ve chosen a worthy one, Hunter.” Gordo says to him as they leave the training room. 

“I have.” Din agrees, the smile still under his helmet. 

“A child born of the Tribe; Alis is the last one.” Gordo reminisces. “Will we be seeing another blessing soon?” The question causes Din to blush but he is glad no one can see. 

“It is up to her. I still have a foundling to take home.” Din reminds his friend.

“Yes, your little green  _ ad’ika _ . The Healer says his genetic makeup is unlike any she’s ever known.” Gordo muses. 

“Yes, it’s been difficult to find his origins but we have a next step planned.” Gordo nods, a hum of approval entering the air.

“You bring honor to the name of Mandalorians, brother.” 

The words stir something inside Din, a mixture of confusion and shame. Does he? Is he truly a Mandalorian or is he merely a Child of the Watch? Bo-Katan’s face flashes in his mind, her words a nuisance in the silence;  _ a cult of religious zealots _ . The words are meant to hurt and they did, they  _ have _ but they also make him wonder. Is there more than one way to be a Mandalorian? Who could he possibly ask?

Does it even matter?

“How many for the swearing in ceremony tonight?” Din asks to change the subject, throat tight.

“Three. Two foundlings and my son.” Gordo boasts. It used to be dozens a year. “I believe you, I and Paz will be leading tonight.” 

“And we have enough armor? For three Mandalorians?” Din continues to question.

“Yes. The Armourer has forged them from the metal she collected on Navarro.” Gordo answers. “Do not worry yourself with such things, Hunter. All you need to worry about is the fight.”

The fight is the most crucial part of the ceremony. Din’s came out of his own bloody, bruised and broken. Most important of all though, he came out a Mandalorian. Beskar is one of the most coveted materials in the galaxy, not to be given to just anyone. You have to fight for it, prove that you’re worthy of carrying on the Mandalorian name and putting the armor to good use. The battle is against one Mandalorian chosen by the Tribe. The student does their best to last a whole half hour or if they’re able, immobilize the Mandalorian. 

If you can’t make it through the fight, you don’t get to take on the Creed. It’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, no second chances, no retakes.

“I will not go easy on Alis.” Din states plainly. It’s a heavy sentence and Gordo pauses in his step, turning to face Din.

“To do so would be an insult to me and my family, Hunter.” Gordo declares. 

“You will not fault me if he fails to succeed?” His brother in arms shakes his head.

“No, I will fault myself.”

The rest of the walk is silent until they reach the main entrance room once again. While bare before, it is as ornate as it can be now. Flames flicker on the walls to light up the area, Mandalorians lining each wall and a stone circle in the middle of the room is left alone and empty. Medics wait by the circle, supplies plenty from Din’s trip as they wait to do their jobs. The three students have grouped together, wrapping their knuckles and trading tips. Din’s eyes immediately search for his  _ dala _ and find her drowning in attention from the children of the Tribe, nearly a dozen of them surrounding her with grabby hands.

“What’s happening here?” Din asks when he makes his way over. Gordo has split off to find Paz and get things started. (Y/N) looks up from her audience and beams at him, giggling as she pulls out four bars of something wrapped in foil. 

“Remember that chocolate I bought?” She says, holding up the snacks and wiggling her eyebrows. Yes, Din does remember. He had only briefly mentioned there would be children at the Tribe and she had gone off and spent half her savings on the rare delicacy. It made Din’s heart shake under his skin.

“I’ve never had chocolate!” A kid chirps to his left.

“Me either!”

“Is it spicy?” 

“Can I have some?” 

“Just a little bit, please!”

“Yes, yes, of course, everyone gets some!” (Y/N) laughs as she starts to unwrap the sweet, breaking off bits to drop into excited hands. Din stands back and watches quietly as she finishes up her task, giggling when she finally can move through the sea of children to come to his side.

“That was very kind of you.” Din says, reaching for her when she’s in proximity. His hand lands on her shoulder, giving her a light squeeze before letting his touch stroke down her back. She leans into the sensation, stepping even closer into his space. 

“I even saved some for us.” (Y/N) holds up a small block, enough for her, the child and him to all have a small piece. He wants to kiss her right then and there at the sight of it.

“Save it for later, we will begin soon.” He advises.

“How does it go? The ceremony?” His  _ dala _ inquires. 

“It’s simple. The students go against their mentors one by one and if they make it through, they are allowed to take the Creed and put on their armor.” He explains. “I will be a mentor tonight.”

“Go against?” She wonders. “Go against how?”

“A fight. No blasters, no vibroblades, hand to hand.” Din tells her. “If they can manage to handle themselves long enough, we’ll let them move on.” 

“I’m assuming you’ll be fighting Alis. He told me how  _ mean _ you are.” (Y/N) laughs at that and Din snorts. 

“He hasn’t seen me mean.” Din assures her. “And if he thinks I’m mean, he’s gonna be quite shocked to see his father fight tonight.” 

“Has anyone ever lost?” Din nods at her question. 

“My year, actually. We had a foundling unable to stay conscious.” 

“Did you guys kick him out or something?”

“Maker, no.” A quick shake of his head, more fervent than he expected from himself. “He merely found another use for himself within the Tribe.” She hums in acknowledgment, nodding her head as she surveys the room. 

All Mandalorians that were able to attend start to trickle into the room as well as all the other children and members of the Tribe. The buzz of conversation stays low and Din catches Paz’s impressive figure cutting his way into the crowd, Gordo behind him. Din squeezes (Y/N)’s waist, her head turning to face him and he gives her singular nod before going to meet his brothers at the front of the room. The Armourer stands tall there, hands clasped in front of her as she waits for the three Mandalorians she knows to find their three mentees.

“Strength is life, for the strong have the right to rule;” She begins, voice echoing throughout the hall. “Honor is life, for with no honor one may as well be dead; Loyalty is life, for without one’s clan one has no purpose; Death is life, one should die as they have lived.”

“This is the Way.” Din responds, his Tribe a choir as their voices mingle. 

“Tonight, we will witness a  _ Verd’Goten _ , a Soldier’s Birth.” The Armourer continues. “If successful, we will have three new brothers by the end of the night. Trainees, find your mentors.”

Alis makes his way over to Din in a fresh change of clothes, his sweat-soaked articles swapped for clean and dry alternates. While the trainees are not allowed armor like Mandalorians are, they are allowed leather vambraces, shin guards, and a cuirass for protection. Din returns the respectful nod he is given and Alis goes to stand next to him, as do his fellow trainees the same for Paz and Gordo.

“Who will go first?” The Armourer asks the three pairs in front of her.

“Us.” Paz answers, stepping forward. Din watches as the poor kid behind him tenses, jaw clenching tight. 

“Good. Into the circle.” The crowd clears further and Din walks off to the side as Paz and his trainee situate themselves inside the circle at opposite ends.

It begins savagely. Paz holds nothing back, launching towards the kid almost instantly but he’s trained well and he dodges fast. Din respects Paz, knows him well on and off the battlefield. The man is taller and broader than Din, his brute strength a true asset but oftentimes, also his downfall. The trainee picks this up quickly, ducking and weaving to avoid Paz’s clenched fists. Din’s lungs jump when Paz  _ does  _ land a kick right into that kid’s abdomen, the groan of pain causing his stomach to twist.

The clang of beskar a half-hour later signals the end of Paz’s session. His trainee is awake but Maker, Din doesn’t know how. The medics crowd around him as Paz steps back and out of the circle towards Din and Gordo.

“Vil held his own.” Gordo says happily.

“Barely.” Paz points out, rolling his left shoulder back and grimacing in pain from when Vil yanked Paz’s arm back at an abnormal angle. Gordo laughs, shaking his head but Din stays silent. He and Paz have never gotten along, no need to start anything now but what he  _ wants _ to say is that is enough. Holding one’s own against any Mandalorian is a feat in itself and these young men deserve the credit. 

“Come on Taleen, we’re up next.” Gordo exclaims, clapping his trainee on the shoulder. The smile in his voice is audible and the young one follows him with a tight smile on his lips.

Gordo is kinder than Paz but still as lethal. He goes for the head, again and again and by the end of it his trainee has lost both their vambraces to Gordo’s exquisitely planned out hits. Din holds his breath when Gordo lands a hit square on the kid’s temple and the body crumples to the ground. The whole room holds their breath as the seconds tick by and the Armourer is ready to call it when the young man staggers onto his hands and knees. The moment seems to revive him, pull into him the severity of the situation and the room roars when Taleen grins in triumph at the end of his thirty minutes. 

“Ready?” Din asks Alis, turning his head to meet the man. Alis nods tightly as his friend is dragged away by a medic and Din watches as Alis takes in the space inside the circle.

Blood soaks the dirt inside the stone, plenty from each prior tribute. Alis’ eyes trail from one wet spot to another and Din wants to laugh at the way his eyes widen when Alis spots a tooth. The teeth in Din's own mouth are a mixture of real and fake, and don’t ask him which is which because he simply does not know at this point. 

“Make me proud, Alis.” Gordo murmurs as his son walks by and the softness in Gordo’s voice is so painstakingly similar to the one Din uses with the child that it nearly makes Din trip. 

Din is not like Paz who immediately went for the throat of his trainee and Din is not like Gordo who stalked Taleen around the circles to intimidate him. Instead, Din stands as still as the stars in the sky, waiting for Alis to decide how to navigate this fight. He stares and stares, Din stares back and Din counts the minutes as they pass by.

The kid drew the short straw, unfortunately, for Din is the one Mandalorian in his Tribe with experience from all corners of the galaxy. He’s gone up against a hundred different beasts, survived climates from icy cold to scorching hot. He was chosen to care for the Tribe, chosen for his skill and viciousness, and dedication. A million times Din has stared into the face of death and a million times he has returned home.

After ten minutes Alis moves first, fists meeting Din’s beskar with a fleshy thud. Din doesn’t hold back like during training, doesn’t give Alis a second to think about what might be coming next and knocks the breath of him with a knee to his stomach. Din keeps moving forward, aiming his elbow down to the back of Alis’ head. His opponent drops down too low for him to reach, sliding through Din’s legs and back up on his feet before Din can turn around. 

Alis is smart, Din will give him that and that is direly more important in a fight than pure strength. Din doesn’t expect it when Alis falls to the ground again, foot hooking around the back of one of Din’s knees. When Alis pulls his knee back towards him, Din buckles and falls to the ground to meet him. Alis reaches for Din, arm wrapping around Din’s neck as he uses momentum to swing him to the Mandalorian’s back. 

Din takes in the biggest breath of air he can before Alis tightens his hold on Din’s neck. Rendering a Mandalorian unconscious through this technique is risky, mainly because trainees are more often trained to survive rather than go after their opponent. Regardless, Din uses his bulk to rock forward and then swing back, the beskar of his helmet bashing into Alis’ face. The crunch of the kid’s nose is audible to the whole room and Alis releases his grip around Din. Din takes the freedom to walk away and out of Alis’ reach, turning around to keep his eyes on the enemy.

Blood is streaming from Alis’ face when Din turns around, the bright red liquid dripping down his chin and streaking down his neck. The anger that Din saw before flares up in the young mans eyes and before he knows it, Alis crosses the distance between them with a yell. The fight is a dance afterward, footwork scuffing across the dirt inside the circle. Alis lands a hit on Din’s helmet that makes his ears ring, Din breaks nearly every single rib in Alis’ torso and both of their muscles ache with exertion.

Alis doesn’t stop. Not after Din shoves his face into blood soaked dirt, not after Din dislocates his shoulder, not after the cut above his left eye swells to the size of a melon. He comes after Din with the same tenacity as before, again and again with no sense of self-preservation. Din could try harder, he  _ could _ but that’s not the point of this trial. This trial is to test a person’s sense of strength, yes, but also endurance and will. What makes a Mandalorian is not just how well they’re able to hit or how well they’re able to take a hit but their true ability to  _ keep going _ .

Will they continue when the Tribe’s numbers dwindle to nearly nothing? Will they continue when there is nothing left to eat, to drink? Will they continue when the enemy wins, will they continue when their pride and ego have dissipated? Will they make the choice to  _ continue _ to hold up Mandalorian traditions? The Creed? 

Din thinks Alis will and when Alis, Vil and Taleen all swear on the Creed, Din swears along with them once again. 

“I adhere to the  _ Resol'nare _ . The core of what it means to be Mandalorian. A sacred law giving us direction and purpose. Education and armor, self-defense, our tribe, our language, our leader—all help us survive. We must educate our children as Mandalorians, obey the commands of Mandalore, speak Mando'a and defend our clans."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was hard to write. There's so much in a religion, too much to encompass. I think Din has pride in himself and his Tribe, one that was rocked by Bo-Katan but in the end, the way he lives his life is good. It's fulfilling. He has a purpose. That's what people need.


End file.
